


Here's a House Made of Flesh on Fire

by Jables



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2018-08-19 09:31:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 52,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8200153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jables/pseuds/Jables
Summary: Steve is having a hard time adjusting to life in the new century. When he is at war he knows who he is, but in peace time he is merely another lost man, looking for something to believe in. Tony Stark doesn't think he should be it. He isn't exactly okay with the idea of  Steve  Rogers in his life. However, in 'is bed is another story. It's a 'save the planet' mission and a series of collisions between Steve and Tony, and the inevitable.





	1. Chasing ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> WEll, lets give this a whirl, shall we? Here is my humble addition to all those who love a good 'Stony' pairing. Forgive any typos and I hope you enjoy.

A dense cover of fog spills through muffled streets. It's oddly quiet for a New York night. Steve cuts through the clouds with such speed he's sure there's a spiraling trail to mark his passing. He's back in the city, the place he called home _. So why do I feel so lost? _

The soft staccato of footfalls on the pavement help ground him in the darkness. The steady pulse of impact, the simple inhale and exhale, gusty breaths blowing out all remind him he is  _ here, _ the blood brightly thrumming in his veins, it's heat-the very real truth of it-burns just under his skin. He's not buried under ice, in a flinty tomb forgotten to the agonizing encroachment of an infinite deep freeze.

_ So black, so cold. ...crushing me...suffocating...coldcoldcold...no, No.  _ His mind stutters over the sudden taste of metal on his tongue, the influx of overactive adrenal glands makes his heart beat just a fraction out of rhythm. His pace falters, a single misstep is the only outward sign as a deep chill shoots from the base of his spine spiking through his chest. Steve is still frostbitten in his psyche, somewhere. He fears he will never truly be warm again. He pulls himself together with a will that belies his sudden panic, excruciatingly thin, worn and stretched to limits beyond recompense, but still he gathers it round, sewing the tatters together in his mind. Patchwork soul and all he pushes onward, muscles beginning to burn, through the fog laden paths of the city, trying, always trying to outrun the ghosts of a world gone by. A man out of time. Always running. Always alone.

 

Steve finds himself standing before the embossed doors of Avenger Tower, not having any idea how long he has been lost in the fog. For once he hasn't had a planned route, a target heart rate. Steve has just thrown himself into the mist and run, searching for something he isn’t sure can even be found. Perhaps he is only chasing his own ghost. The elevator up to the Avengers floors runs with quiet efficiency. _ Just as anything that Tony has a hand in designing would, _ Steve thinks. The sleek lines and subtle shine of every surface is so 'Stark' it makes Steve feel even more out of place. Memories of wandering museums not touching, admiring with pencil-stained hands in fists at his sides cross his mind. Steve mirrors the same stance now, barely containing the urge to run his hands along the gleaming surfaces. Everything about Stark Tower including Tony himself exudes wealth, luxury, excess, almost obscenely whispering  _ why yes, touch me, indulge, luxuriate please. _ And Steve knows better than most, some things are not meant to be touched.

 

A wave of longing for his own time crashes through him, a surge of grief following. He misses touch. No one in this century touches anymore. There is a bubble, he has been told, after a particularly embarrassing incident involving Director Fury and an elevator during his first few days after being thawed out. Thanks to the serum he is usually able to take this new world on with elastic understanding, making intuitive leaps. But it's the unspoken differences of this century that chip away at Steve's adaptability. Body language alone is as alien as the actual language. He always has to be watching, guessing, mimicking. It means never feeling like he belongs, always an outsider. The easy, friendly, casual way his commandos lived day in and day out together are a memory now. The laughing good-natured ribbing with arms akimbo hanging over shoulders, sharing a smoke, sharing a meager meal, hands clapping his shoulder in camaraderie, affection pure and straightforward. Not like this austerity he finds himself in now. The thing that strikes him most is how in this science fiction future everyone is so connected by technology that Steve could only have dreamed of as a kid, even with all that people are more disconnected from each other than ever. It is such a small thing, the touch of someone who knows you. Someone who has genuine understanding of you as a person, not a rank, or a name, or a relic.  _ Bucky and I had that.  _ Just the thought of his name slices into Steve, reopening the wound in the middle of his chest.

 

They had a lifetime of shared touches. As kids fighting in alleyways through winter nights that were meant to kill him, into long sick bed days spent drawing daydreams on scraps of paper Bucky had managed to scrounge from god knows where. And later as they grew older, furtive fumbling hands, tentative and unsure and humid nights spent on the roof when the summer heat would sink into their cramped room. The way Bucky's hands held him together as his quaking lungs tried to tear him apart, or the casual way Bucky used to throw his arm around Steve while some snarky rejoinder falls like ash from the cigarette hanging from his lip. A tangle of innocent, friendly, angry, teasing touches.

_ Oh Buck...how did I get here, it was supposed to be you and me, to the end of the line-I failed you. I wasn't fast enough. I wasn't strong enough. I wasn't enough.  _ Steve feels his legs shake, and start to buckle. He grabs for the brass railing, his fingers sinking into the metal like clay. Now that his darkest secret is acknowledged it becomes a gnawing thing, twisting into his soul. The crumpled railing in front of him reminds him of another broken railing and the snow blowing by and horror screaming in his head. He peels his fingers away and a feeling of guilt rolls through him. This is why he runs, to keep from crushing things around him, like the grief is crushing Steve. He pushes it all back into the hole in his heart, tamping it down until he stops shaking.

 

With his failure still threading through him as the doors glide noiselessly open, Steve makes a valiant effort at straightening the spine that wants to bend under the weight of everything he's lost. Stepping out into the hallway, throwing his shoulders back, a cold tendril creeps up his vertebrae and he is upright once more. No one is there to witness the resettling of his burden and he gratefully heads towards the promise of food and perhaps a lessening of this darkness. It isn't unusual to run into one of his team mates at odd hours, the shared kitchen always seems to draw company no matter the time, a sense of normalcy in what might be considered a life spent negotiating with chaos, Steve figures.

 

Occasionally Natasha and Clint can be found coming in from a SHIELD mission, a bit bedraggled and worn, but still unflappably stealthy. Even with Steve's super-hearing a quick “morning, Cap” and a light brushing of fingers along his forearm are often the only warning as they slink into the kitchen, pawing through cabinets in a tandem choreographed dance they have refined over the years. Like two giant cats, they often end up lounging against one another, never out of reach of the other. Sometimes Steve itches to draw them that way, great tails swishing and eyes slitted taking in their surroundings in a glance. Sleek and dangerous even in repose.

 

Bruce is more elusive, but he makes the effort to come share meals with the others when the time between visits stretches uncomfortably long. His calm, apologetic nature takes any sting out of his absences. Steve can understand why Bruce keeps his distance, and never pushes him for more than he can give. No one wants 'the other guy' showing up uninvited. Somehow, contemplative, quiet Bruce has struck up a unique friendship with the one team member who doesn’t really believe in filters, Tony Stark. Clint has informed him this is called a 'bromance' in today’s parlance. One might think that those two shouldn't be left in a room together let alone be-  _ bros? I think that's right. _ Tony's acerbic joy at poking and prodding every button,  _ just because he can  _ and  well, Bruce having one Giant Green button normally spells disaster. However, they mesh. Tony has found a kindred spirit in Bruce, there's no need to dumb things down, they talk shop. Bruce is a man fluent in the language of science, the language that resides in Tony's soul. They can be found heads tilted, quick bursts of words flying between them, a shorthand of genius, as Tony makes sweeping gestures pacing impatient circles around the fixed point of Bruce. Bruce owns a Rosetta Stone to Tony Stark. Sometimes, he admits, in empty moments of the night, Steve envies Bruce.

 

Steve can feel the focal shift as his serum-enhanced brain cells turn once more to the conundrum that is Tony Stark. Of all the team, Tony is the hardest to pin down. Steve means that literally and figuratively. It's been days since there has been a Stark siting.  _ He is avoiding me. He probably has Jarvis tracking me _ .  _ Never play fair, do you Stark? _ Leave it to Tony to create an AI as complex as Jarvis and then use him to avoid having awkward conversations with Steve. Ones that often leave Steve confused and stumbling for explanations days after. Steve now “googles” roughly half the things that fall out of Tony's mouth. He painstakingly replays the repartee over in his mind, trying to peel back the pop culture layers, the flirtations and barbs and delve into the subtext.  _ Do you ever just say what you mean, Tony? _

 

In places Steve doesn't look too long at, his jumbled mind sees how he thrills at each new interaction, another chance to get a piece of the puzzle. And so goes the delicate dance between Steve and Tony that has bled into what is now a series of unexpected, half-finished conversations and retreats. Retreats that have lead to Steve's outright stalking of Tony using tactical advantage to create rare moments alone with him. Where he needn't perform, or be Iron Man, or even Tony Stark, but just Tony. Tony and Steve.

 

Steve catches himself straining his ears for any sign of him, even now.  _ Oh, come off it, soldier, you're chin-strapped,  _ Steve thinks to himself, as a phantom British lilt echoes in the hole in his chest. But Tony is a rare one at this hour, the early fog hasn't even lifted yet. Steve still feels the dampness on his clothes, clinging, as fleet-footed memories slip past his defenses of nights when the damp was his enemy, as he lay a chill away from death's door, the wheezing gasps loud for a distinct second and then they are gone, wispy and muted in what had up until this moment been a morning stilted in silence. A cold shiver runs down his neck.  _ Best not to chase that memory _ .

 

Steve trudges into the kitchen, looks around in an effort to convince himself that he isn't alone. Chrome and marble are all he finds. He swallows his loneliness and goes through the motions of his post-run routine, even if he doesn't know why, anymore. His mind meanders absently as he closes the refrigerator door, milk in hand, and that is how Steve finds himself staring deeply into Tony Stark's slightly over-bright eyes.


	2. Kitchen Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is coming off an epic workshop bender, the last thing he wants to see is a sweaty Steve Rogers standing in his kitchen. How could this possible go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- switch from TOny's POV to Steve's POV a few times. Hopefully it's easy to follow.

Tony has emerged from his workshop on the burnt edges of what turned into a thirty-six hour rabbit hole, redesigning the repulsor units, maximizing output, and putting in a few shiny toys for the arsenal. A task basically perfecting an already perfect design.

_ How does one outdo oneself? _

Tony stumbles his way to the kitchen, a faint idea of coffee swimming through the smoldering nebula of his thoughts. Padding his sleep-deprived body into the room, barefoot and drifting towards the metal appliance of his choice, he grinds to a halt.

Unless he is mistaken, and he is  _ never   _ mistaken, the rather large form occupying the other side of the door directly in front of him is none other than his resident headache-waiting-to-happen. Captain Steven Grant Rogers.  _ Well, fuck me. _

 

'Mister Perfect' Steve Rogers. _The_ Steve who makes Tony feel feelings, and everyone knows Tony doesn't _do_ feelings...but Steve does. Steve does _all_ the damn feelings. Steve with the hopeful eyes and **_the_** **_smile_** and the sex appeal of a god...Steve who smells like soap, and sunshine, and justice.. _.no._

 

_ No. nope. Just turn your ass around and walk the fuck right out of here, Stark. NOW. We do not have the capacity to deal with America's favorite Capsicle-wait-why are we not walking.  Why are we-oh too late, you absolute utter ass. Now you've done it. You traitor. Yup Those are Steve's eyes...his impossibly blue eyes, drowning now...gods help me...limpid pools are real...who knew. _

 

Tony feels the silence descend as his brain short circuits at the sudden closeness of Steve. He has been avoiding the man for days, and now, here he is, as if conjured from one of Tony's fever dreams. In one of his sinfully stretched cotton shirts, damp and gorgeous, with eyes shining like stars beneath a golden halo of locks. Too bright and perfect, like some Hollywood ingenue on a silver screen. His very own Ilsa, stepping out of the shadows. Eyes full, silently pleading, for what Tony is afraid to ask...  _ Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world... _

**~**

For a fraction of time, an impossibly long yet ephemeral moment, Steve basks in the glow of an unfiltered Tony, sinking into the warmth that finally spreads through his body as he leans in, an unconscious desire to be closer. A pair of brown eyes Steve has drawn more times than he cares to acknowledge stare back, mirth and heated questions lurk in their depths. Tony looks slightly ragged round the edges, fine creases and lashes red-rimmed in relief against liquid brown irises. Steve can even make out the hints of silver glinting in Tony's beard, incongruous with the endless energy still streaming off Tony, even after what has clearly been an epic creative bender. This all slips out of focus as Steve watches Tony's pupils dilate impossibly wide, and it feels like Steve is falling, gleefully throwing himself off a cliff. Not even concerned with the crash. The moment stretches molten as far as it can before bursting, just as freshly blown glass is dashed with a drop of water. The distance snaps back into place, and Steve feels the retreat coming, before words have even crossed Tony's lips. Tony's strangely silent lips.

_ Oh, not fair, Tony, you're letting me down here, say something, **say anything** , since when do you pass up the chance to take a swipe at Captain America? Save me from the awful need, the stabbing need to feel something, to know I'm not locked under an ocean. Save me from myself. Don't leave me here. _

 

“Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world...”Tony finally utters, a soft, bemused timbre coloring his voice.

_Oh, I know this one,_ he thinks on an unexpected rush of happiness. Breaking his own silence, he says, “She walks into mine...”, as a shy smile unfurls across his face like a promise or a secret spoken in hushed tones. A smile he unknowingly gives only to Tony, sweet and vulnerable. Tony gives a soft start and a sigh that ghosts along Steve's skin, his finger absently stroking his lip as if Tony is contemplating the mysteries of the universe. He never takes his eyes off Steve. A burgeoning warmth suffuses him, a low “Hey Tony,” slipping out unbidden.

 

Tony's rather intense gaze is now roaming over the planes of his face and straying time and again to Steve's mouth- _ no _ - _ my lips _ . Steve feels heat pooling in forgotten pockets of his body. The familiar and excruciating warmth blooms across his fair skin, as blushes go, it's impressive. 

_ How can you NOT see it now Stark? My weakness on display.  _

Steve is silently flaming a dusky rose now. How can Tony make Steve feel this powerless. A confluence of opposing emotions is at war within him. Steve can never find his footing with Tony. A blink of coffee eyes, and a quick shake and Tony breaks the trance with a curt nod. His unruly hair falls against his brow and Steve clenches to stop himself from artlessly brushing it back in place. Tony's smirk is in place in the blink of an eye, the armor clinking closed.  _ Damn _ . Steve takes a small step back, awkwardness flooding in where seconds ago divinity had stood.

~

Steve's soft reply shocks Tony into the realization he'd spoken out loud. Oh fiddlesticks. He is never going to be able to watch Casablanca again. Damn Steve and his secret smile. How the living, breathing, hell is Tony supposed to be able to process anything with Steve being adorable and vulnerable and so damn disarming it makes his Grinch heart twinge in places he's forgotten about? He feels a quickening frustration at Steve's perfect face, and his perfectly kissable mouth, his special smile. The one Tony dreams about. Oh hell, he's lost his train of thought again.

 

_ Steve...steve...so beautiful...beautiful Steve deserves kisses...all the kisses...every last one...why haven't we done this? Why aren't we doing this right now? WHY are we not kissing Steve on his pink perfect mouth? This is unacceptable. We need to be kissing Steve Rogers. Right. Fucking. Now. He is fearfully and wonderfully made. Yes, we'll worship Steve. Kiss Steve's jaw. Lick Steve's clavicle. Stroke Steve's golden hair. Oh no, no, sweet mother of god, Steve blushes like the sunrise...bright and beautiful, and so slowly, we must write all the sonnets about Steve's rosy parts....his pearly, perfect, just-for-Tony parts...it's already written all over my dumb face. What the hell is happening?! I'm stroking out, clearly. I always knew this would happen to us one day Stark, we'd slip over the edge of sanity. AM I really standing here composing psalms to America's greatest hero? Stark, pull your shit together! No more fantasizing about Daddy's perfect little soldier. Well, maybe not little, not anymore. Have you seen the breadth of those shoulders? Big enough to hold up the world and all its expectations. Big enough to hold up even all of Howard's expectations. In ways I never could. Still driving the lessons home, even from the grave, you bastard. Turns out you might have been right about one thing. Steve is perfect. And I am so screwed. A fitting legacy. _

~

“Here's looking at you, Cap. What's a nice dame like you doing in a dive like this”, Tony teases all sass and superiority covering up his slight embarrassment at being caught salivating over Captain America. 

“ _ Come  _ here often, Rogers? You out hunting unicorns?” 

Tony slouches gracefully against the cool marble with arms crossed, as only he can winking and waggling his brows in a disaffecting way, as if openly flirting with Captain America is somehow a salacious pastime meant to torment Steve's old fashioned sensibilities. Like Steve is a national icon and not a man. Some part of Steve wants to advance, not retreat. He wants to wipe the idea right out of Tony Stark's 'genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist' head that Steve is just a shield and a suit. He's no punchline, or a stumbling babe in the woods. He is more than a curiosity and something to be hung away or put on a shelf untouched until he is needed to clean up another mess, another war, another century. He's a man, not a weapon. He  _ wants _ . He wants so much in this new world, his viscous need to connect, to share some part of himself crashes right up against the infamous Stark armor. Armor Tony's worn long before he ever became Iron Man. Howard sure did a number on his only son, Steve has no idea how to traverse the minefield that is left from Tony's childhood. He only knows that somehow Steve himself is tangled up in a long line of disappointment stemming from Howard and his complicated relationship with Tony.

 

So Steve is stuck in a stalemate, a limbo, unwilling to breach the battlements surrounding Tony sure in the knowledge that he will end up bloody and torn and no more closer to the man inside. The heat fades from his face along with his smile, eyes tight as he moves past Tony and resumes gathering his breakfast, putting space between he and the barefooted enigma splayed across the white granite, with his ridiculous brazen hair,  _ spiked and stained from repeated stroking in the throes of engineering brilliance, no doubt. _ Steve sighs inwardly at the jealousy coloring his thoughts at a slight smudge of oil streaking across Tony's temple. The faded t-shirt clinging to Tony's frame proclaims some band that Steve doesn't know and is just another neon sign blinking at Steve, another reminder of the easy things he can't even begin to understand about this century. He is so far behind, 68 years ago a starting gun sounded and Steve is still running, desperate to catch up to something real. Always running. Never fast enough. Tearing his attention from Tony takes primordial effort. Steve somehow manages to sit and eat his cereal, the soft crunch scratches at the quiet in the room, his back stays ramrod straight. He can feel Tony's annoyance at being ignored growing like an electrical storm sparking. The air is pregnant with expectations of who will cave first. Interminable seconds tick by and finally Steve feels Tony's impatience crack open the conversation.

~

With a perverse desire to sully the good captain still running though Tony's oh so black heart, he goes right for the jugular. Steve won't be able to sit there ignoring Tony, like he's five years old waiting for someone to give him a gold star, pat him on the head and tell him he's a  _ good boy _ .

“Just so we're clear,  _ Cap _ , this- this  _ thing _ here, between us-” Tony blurts out unevenly-”This thing that we don't talk about as it spins around us like a giant hippo in a tiny tutu, doing arabesques...” his clever hands move in circles, an ever increasing maelstrom that only Tony can pull off while maintaining an air of nonchalance.

“It's going to spin out of control and crush your perfectly squared away world someday, Soldier boy. It's flattering, I mean, don't get me wrong, who wouldn't want to come down every morning and ogle Captain 'American Pie' himself as he patriotically pours milk over his sensible breakfast of champions, setting such a shining example for the rest of us.”

Tony pushes from the counter and saunters towards Steve, his hands shoving into his pockets as he leans over and softly scoffs at his clearly subpar, boring breakfast and he continues blithely narrating, “and yeah, watching that little crease of technological confusion take up residence on your perfectly unlined face, your Adonis-chiseled jaw jutting out stubbornly as if you are taking out a German regiment and not merely the confounding contraption and giver of sweet sustenance of life, well it's just a bonus, really...who wouldn't want to take in the glory that is Steve Rogers in the morning...every six foot star-spangled inch dripping with righteous do-good-ed-ness ready to save the world one more time...always the first one to sacrifice, whether he's asked to or not...once more unto the breach, dear friends and damn the torpedoes...damn the consequences...damn the rest of us to our own broken lives...” Tony trails off, his syllables all tumbling out in a rush and leaving him strangely deflated.

~

Steve stops eating, stops his traitorous heart from skipping a beat, pauses, rewinding the last few moments of Tony's latest verbal assault. He turns his head, staring over his shoulder as the penny drops. The fog seems to lift, very abruptly.

~

_ It Isn't my fault, this time, _ Tony tells himself. He has nothing but good intentions. No, really. Well, okay maybe that last part was taking it a teensy bit farther than he intends. But what can he say, Steve just calls to his blood. It's quite intoxicating, finding Steve's soft spots. He makes such an easy target, with his naivete and unbearable honesty like a red flag waving in the breeze. Tony is not one to ignore Temptation, they tango. And yet Steve finds ways to waltz right through the close, careful walls Tony builds, as if they are made of spun sugar or he doesn't he even see them. As if Tony's giant Iron suit isn't the analogy to end all analogies. And Tony can't have that. He can't have beautiful Steve-of-the-endless-blue-eyes-and-vast-shoulders traipsing in and out of what passes as his mangled heart these days. He can't have shy Steve-of-the-earnest-blue-eyes, bashful and sharing his sunrise blush and secret smile with Tony, _ the one he only gives to us-shut up stupid heart.  _ He can't have broken Steve-of-the-haunted-blue-eyes silently asking him to fix something Tony can't even reach. But mostly it comes down to this,  _ He can't have Steve. _

Well let it never be said that Tony Stark doesn't know how to take a situation and make it worse. He's a master. Winking his way through quips and come-ons, Tony turns a few flirtatious remarks into a mocking diatribe that somehow falls back in itself as Tony feels the burn of every word...he only wants to forget Steve's secret sunrise smile, not erase it completely. 

_ Good job, break Captain America, sure that sounds fun, Howard would be so proud. _

_ It really isn't my fault _ , he thinks as he all but challenges Steve to notice him, dares him to prove Tony wrong, prove that he isn't really the hero Howard had made a young Tony idolize and resent in equal measure. That he is more than a sacrificial lamb running to be the first to throw himself on the altar. Or maybe he just wants Steve to tell him to go to hell,  _ like I'm not already here _ .

  
The millisecond Steve turns his head, Tony knows he's gone one 'damn' too far. He has pushed at a sore spot on the tender underbelly of Steve. He should know by now-Captain America might be a paragon among men, but Steve Rogers, he's a brawler from Brooklyn. He never backs down from a challenge. So here Tony stands, the narrowed gaze of Steve Rogers alight on him like the Eye of Sauron. Scorching into his brain and making him squirm in abject misery, as all his chickens come home to roost in one big clusterfuck. 

_ OK, so maybe it's a little my fault. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few Tony references:  
> -Casablanca  
> -Fantasia  
> -Lord of the Rings  
> -Grinch who Stole Christmas


	3. Burn, baby, Burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve confronts Tony, and it's oh so satisfying.

Steve is having a slightly existential moment as his brain tries following too many thoughts at once. Images are capriciously flickering along with the echo of Tony's tirade. About Steve. And ballerina hippos- _ ooh, I understand that reference. _ .. and the cereal Steve eats and something about Steve's jaw and his not at all strange war with the coffee machine. But then the swerve, blurring the mantle of Captain America with Steve, painting him as some perfectly boring, do-gooder, who only lives to save the world, with no sense of the consequences. As if he hadn't sacrificed everything saving it once already. As if Steve doesn't have the deep knowledge that too much has been asked of them both. Hadn't he watched Tony do the exact same thing? Saw him hurtling into the expanse on a one way ticket to martyrdom and then that silent fall. So Tony thinks he gets a free pass on the hero-complex? Pot meet Kettle.  _ You think I'm some symbol of perfection, with no beating heart, no spirit that can be broken? Oh Stark you couldn't be more wrong.  _ Steve's blood is up, he can feel it, no more retreating. Steve is done running. It's time to make his stand.

  


Steve slowly sits up and spins more gracefully than someone as large as he has any right to directly into Tony's bubble. Looming. Immoveable. Steve crosses his arms menacingly and leans into Tony Stark's now more than shocked face. He catches Tony's eye with a decidedly aggressive look and makes a tactical move. With almost no effort at all, Steve takes one step forward, giving Tony nowhere to go but backwards. As he scrambles back against the counter, Steve brings his arms down, effectively boxing him in,  _ finally,  _ Steve has the upper hand. As Tony's quicksilver tongue darts out and nervously wet his lips Steve declares victory.  _ Got you now, Stark, no retreating. _ Steve's eyes turn fierce, he closes the scant inches between them and rumbles out, “This “ _ thing” here , _ Tony, between us...This thing we  _ don't _ talk about-We're gonna talk about it, right  _ damn _ now.”

_ ~ _

Whatever Tony expected, this was NOT it. A frontal assault. He should have seen it coming. He would have if he'd had any sense of self-preservation left.

  


_ Steve-god-bless-America-Rogers just backed my ass up against the kitchen counter with nothing but pheromones and a pair of baby blues. Oh god, he's calling my bluff, my big, stupid Steve-sized bluff. Wait, did he just say damn? Holy shit-I made Captain America curse. I'm sure there's a Guinness world record somewhere in th- sweet jesus pay attention Stark! What do we do now, genius? WE who are about to die, salute you- gotta relax, breathe, ye gods, Steve is RIGHT HERE. Oh he really does smell like justice...and clean sweat...and  _ **_Steve._ ** _ Come on, brain, distraction- now, pi, yes pi sweet, sweet pi 3.141592653589793238462643383-fuck. Steve's perfect kissable face is inches away and he wants to talk. Talk....talk?! Ha, Oh you devil, Rogers, you insane golden god. You titanic tease. _

  


Tony's brain has been misfiring since the second Steve's impossible arms caged him in. His initial panic at being trapped collides with rather lusty thoughts in the nebula.

  


_ Sure, we can talk Rogers, as soon as I'm done wrecking that beautiful mouth of yours, so pink and perfect and oh the things I'll do to you they don't even have names for...you think you've blushed before, baby, I'm going to paint you scarlet, watch as your eyes go dark and you catch fire, I'll set you ablaze and oh will you burn for me...you'll beg for me you'll clench and shudder and spill your secrets for me. I will unman you, crater you, crack you wide open and put you back together again. It'll feel so good, so fucking good, gorgeous, I promise. Steeeve... _

_ ~ _

Steve feels a small whine tear out of his throat,  _ dear god, Tony is talking _ ...the words are obscenely zinging directly to some dark, thick roiling part of him, sending a stab of pure lust shooting straight to his groin. A powerful arousal rises in him, he is immediately out of breath, panting as if he has run miles in seconds. S _ kin is hot, so hot... _ he's already lit up, just like Tony is promising. Tony is dilated, wild and dark and Steve is falling off the cliff again. His helpless gaze is locked onto Tony's face as that treacherously sinful mouth continues it onslaught. His arms quiver with the tension of holding himself still, fighting desire. The chemicals in his bloodstream are burning off all of Steve's intentions, his anger, his very sense. He can only listen as Tony words dismantle him, rending his atoms and reforming him into this gasping, desperate, taut mess. It's at this precise moment Tony whispers Steve's name...protracting it out in one sweet sigh. Even one more second of this and Steve really will be unmanned. There isn't anything else to do. Steve stops Tony's mouth. And His brain explodes.

  


His first thought is Tony's lips feel soft and hard all at once. At least that's what it would be if he had any capacity left to form words. He leans into Tony. Closing his eyes only makes the sensations of skin on skin burn brighter. A low moan escapes when the strong mouth of Tony Stark actually kisses him back, pulling at him insistently. Tony slants his head so their lips slide even closer together and Steve thinks, _ I might actually die _ .

  


Tony is rubbing his lips along Steve's in an unspoken demand. His clever hands fist in Steve's shirt, pulling them into full body contact. A loud groan forces it's way out of him at the sudden relief of having something to press his hardened length against, it's almost painful. He can feel Tony's own erection digging into his hip.

  


_ Tony, tony, tony, tony...  _ whispers through his mind on a loop. The glide of a tongue against his now tender lips shocks him into gasping, an excited hum of approval from Tony precedes a swirling, licking of tongue into Steve's open mouth. Another small explosion rocks his brain. The scrape of Tony's beard in sharp contrast to the silken tongue stroking makes something clench inside. Steve is lost in the midst of the most intimate kiss he's ever had. It humbles him to know that he has no defense against this, only a matching confusing need to be inside and outside of Tony all at once.  _ How is this happening? How did I end up here, trying to climb inside Tony Stark? _

  


Going with raw instinct rather than finesse Steve pushes his own tongue into Tony's mouth, and they are now truly entangled. The kiss is still blooming between them, both nibbling and sucking but Tony is distracting Steve with sliding hands roaming down Steve's chest, diving under the edge of his shirt, stroking his abdomen making muscles jump and clench. The inching assault moves down to his waistband, slung low on his hips and Tony encircles them. He presses thumbs into his hipbones, then rubs circles. A soft needy moan tumbles out of Steve. Tony pulls back just enough to suck on the end of Steve's tongue and something fractures inside him. He arches against Tony, sharp gasps breaking from both their lips. The friction they are creating sends sparks through every lit nerve ending in his body. A slow roll of Tony's hips ratchets the heat impossibly higher. He's now radioactive, heading toward nuclear.

  


Suddenly Steve remembers he has arms, and hands and fingertips that need to feel, so he raises them and rakes his fingers through Tony's inky hair. He traces his blunt nails across his sensitive scalp. Tony's bucking into him with a bruising grip is the first sign that his control is slipping. On a heady rush of power Steve thinks  _ If I'm going to die, you're coming right along with me, Stark.  _ The momentum shifts and just like that Steve is in control of the kiss.

  


He pulls tufts of Tony's hair just past the edge of pain, eliciting a series of whimpers. Steve circles his hips and a hiss escapes, so he does it again. Tony is now the one wracked with shudders. Steve wants to devour him.  _ Not enough..never enough...  _ He runs his hands down cradling Tony's cheeks, his thumbs digging in just shy of where their mouths are fused together.  _ oh god _ He can feel Tony's tendons and muscles moving underneath the pads of his fingertips as they kiss. It's the most erotic thing Steve has ever known and he slips under the surface of Tony, drowning.

  


Before he can resurface Tony breaks off the kiss. It sends Steve into a panic, opening his eyes frantically he thinks, _ this is it, this is where Tony wakes up and realizes this a huge mistake, this is where he runs away and leaves me bleeding... _ .

Tony, eyes closed, turns his mouth into Steve's palm, and whispers,

“Steve, I have to bite you now, there's really nothing I can do, I have- you taste too-Just-” and then he wraps his teeth around the fleshy pad of his thumb and bites, hard. Steve entire frame jolts.  _ What the hell just happened.  _ He feels like every nerve in his body pulsed at once. Narrowing all of what little focus Steve has left to the cut of teeth against his flesh he wonders if he has gotten in too deep. He had felt that directly in his core.

  


Tony's teeth let go, and he drags his lips up and over Steve's thumb, mumbling,

“-be so good-I promise, didn't I promise-trust me, beautiful-” then slowly envelops the tip and pulls with all the sucking heat of his mouth. Steve can only shake as Tony laves an endless rhythm. He is nipping and tracing up and down the sensitive ridges and in between web of his thumb but It feels like Tony's slick mouth is on his cock, sensations jumbling and criss-crossing.  _ This is it, this is how I die... _

  


A sweet agony tears through him and he starts to babble in broken syllables. Tony circles his tongue once, twice, three times, and then pulls long and hard, eyes piercing Steve's. A bolt of white hot lust shoots straight to the base of his balls, coiling, and then Steve flies apart. His sudden climax overwhelms him and he breaks with a sob, his cock convulsing against Tony and juices stream out of him. He throws his head back with a cry and squeezes his eyes shut as another quake wracks him, he's still coming, the aftershocks almost as strong as the first. A golden heat radiates from every pore as Steve is thrown into some swirling cosmic part of the universe, another dimension, where Steve isn't Steve anymore but dissolving atoms. He has no idea how long it takes for him to come back to himself. When he finally does all he can do is stare open-mouthed when his thumb pops out of Tony's mouth on a wet sound.

  
Amusement flashes in Tony's bright eyes and a wicked smile curls up the corner of his mouth. He just rewired all of Steve's synaptic pathways and he knows it. And he barely even touched him. They both still have all their clothes on. And it hits Steve, he never stood a chance. On a chuckle, Tony Stark smugly whispers, “You burning for me yet, baby?”


	4. Honeyed Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony's POV of the confrontation.

Tony has died. He is convinced of this. He's burst an aneurysm or spontaneously combusted, or  he was crushed by a giant anvil. These are all definite possibilities considering the fact that right this instant, Steve Rogers is kissing him.

 

It feels like heaven, but Tony can't be sure, as he's always been much more for the sinning than the penitence, he's never bothered to think much about the constructs of heaven and hell and god and the devil. Maybe he should have, because here Steve Rogers is, hanging like the most forbidden fruit ever created, and Tony is gonna pluck him. And everyone knows what happens next. Tony kisses him back.

 

Steve tastes like milk and honey. Tony takes long sips, not rushing, no sense of time or space, only Steve. And his honeyed mouth. Tony slips his tongue in, lapping him up. Then there's a whole body pressing in, Steve's glorious body rolling against his and Steve returns the favor shoving his tongue into the kiss. Tony snaps into the present.  _ This is real. Steve's slippery, perfect tongue is inside me. WHAT?! How-wh-doesn't matter, Stark! More, more, we must have MORE. There are Steve's oh so sexy abs, and those are Steve's oh so delectable hipbones, and that is most definitely Steve's oh so impressive dick pushing into us. So, not dead. But soon. I don't how much I can take before my heart gives out, Cap. _

 

Desperate not to break the spell, Tony keeps kissing Steve, if neither of them can talk, then they can't ruin this moment, the most incredible, what the fuck moment of his life. So Tony now turns the full force of his extensive and helpful-and-not-at-all-manslutty experience to the task at hand: the debauching of Steve Rogers.

 

_ Let's not scare him off...slow it down, Stark...oh gods, how is this fair, how can you really be this perfect, just let me get to your chewy chocolate center...how many licks will it take to get to the center of Steve Rogers. _

 

Steve pulls at his hair and Tony's train of thought derails. Things go hazy for a bit. Only sensations are breaking through, and Tony is shaking apart. He can't breathe, he thinks he vaguely recalls a plan, a plan to show Steve how good this is, how right this is, a plan to take him apart piece by piece and put him back together better than before, a new Steve. This is what Tony does, he makes things better.

_ Oh let me make it better, let me take you apart, lay you out beneath my teeth, and undo every last inch of you. Impress myself into your skin like a tattoo. And everyone will know, you're MINE, but before can I reassemble you, beautiful, I gotta break you. _

And he proceeds to do just that, with his lips, and teeth as he sucks off Steve's thumb. His own heartbeat throbs painfully in his dick as they rut against each other. It is fantastic. He feels the sob wrench from Steve and a deep sense of satisfaction spills out in a dangerous grin across his face. That is the sound of Steve breaking open... He has just made the virginal Steve Rogers cum in his pants. Tony can't help himself as he looks into Steve's shell-shocked eyes, and finds himself teasingly say, “You burning for me yet, baby?”

And that's when Tony figures it out. This isn't Heaven, this is Hell. Because the raw, wrecked look on Steve's face as he stares down at him makes Tony's heart stutter, and a strange flutter starts in his belly. The smugness abandons him and he is now the one left shaking. His heart quivers, truly afraid of Steve and his earnest afterglow. It feels a lot like love. A lot like  _ Love- _ love. With fucking  _ Captain America _ . Who he has just spent the last few minutes thoroughly despoiling. What the ever-living fuck is he supposed to do with that!? No, absolutely not, NO love. Never again. He likes his heart in his chest, thank you very much. Steve can take his hopeful, puppy dog eyes and bat them at some other sap.  _ Stark, your arrogance is astounding. Like there wouldn't be consequences for defiling Captain America. _

 

In taking Steve apart Tony has unwittingly taken himself apart right alongside him. And now all their parts are haphazardly lying upon each other and Tony doesn't know which belongs where. So here they both are, open and half-formed, the universe between them. Everything he has ever wanted, in front of him for the asking. Everything he never  _ wanted _ to want.

 

Before he can even get to the unspoken question, the final proof that Tony is  _ most definitely _ in Hell descends. Taking the form of Natasha Romanov, standing a foot away hands on her hips, stance wide and danger in eyes. Without saying a word she is ringing a peal of disappointment and judgment down on Tony and he feels like a teenager caught red handed making terrible life decisions. Which, yeah, this whole debacle kind of is.

Tony figures he has about 3.7 seconds before Steve realizes they are no longer alone. He takes 2.5 to memorize the way Steve looks, kiss-swollen lips a delightful shade of red, jaw slack, gulping lungfuls of air as tremors still pulse through him. The last 1.2 seconds is spent bracing himself for the rising tide of what is sure to be Steve's sunrise blush and the knowledge that this might be the last time Tony will ever see it this close...3-2-1.

Natasha politely coughs, and it's like someone has shot Steve. Tony feels Steve's entire body seize, and the absolute panic that widens his eyes actually makes Tony choke back a desperate giggle. This travesty unfolding is pretty far from funny, but Tony is at his breaking point, delirium is setting in. And then the blush starts and he is fucking  _ done _ . He actually feels relief when Steve is the one who breaks away, leaping back as if everything is normal and they didn't just have the cataclysmic make out session-to-end-all-make-out-sessions in the middle of the kitchen.  _ Right Rogers, like she doesn't know exactly what we've been doing. You are the worst Liar Ever. Just keep your pretty mouth shut, Steve. Just turn your delectable ass around and walk out of this kitchen. DO not look at anyone. Don't make this worse... _

 

Steve makes it worse. Pasting a slightly manic smile on his face he turns directly into Natasha's path, blocking her sight-line to Tony. Gotta hand it to him, even in a blind panic Steve is a gentleman, shielding Tony. From the spectacular red Steve's neck is turning, Romanov must be getting quite a show.

“Good Morning, Tash-uh, Nuh-tasha, we, he, Tony, I mean me, I just came, um” Tony chokes on his own spit at that, “for a post run snack. Nothing, that's it. Hi. How are you?”

 

Steve's stumbling is cringe-worthy,  _ Oh Steven, you adorable idiot... _ Tony facepalms as Steve clears his throat in what would be a convincing manner if he only weren’t so TOTALLY FUCKING OBVIOUS and lifts his hand and rubs the nape of his neck.  _ For fucks sake, Cap. No Oscar for you. That was spectacularly awful. Like Travolta-Battlefield Earth-awful. You might as well be wearing a sign that says “I stuck my tongue in Tony Stark”. _

 

For a moment there is blessed silence. Tony peeks out form between his fingers and leans just far enough over to take in Natasha's stoic face. Her slow raising of one delicate eyebrow is tantamount to an entire lecture in Natasha-speak. Her whiskey tones belie her outward apathy.

 

“Morning boys, didn't know anyone would be  _ up _ at this hour.”

 

The slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth and minute emphasis word “up” is all the confirmation Tony needs. Natasha saw it all. The attempted deflowering of Steve Rogers. He is so dead. He may still be standing here breathing, but Tony is smart enough to know he's dead. And today is definitely NOT a good day to die.

 

“And that's my cue.”

 

Stepping out from behind Steve, Tony strolls past without even acknowledging him. He breezes past Natasha's “oh no you didn't, Stark” face in a purposefully unhurried manner. Not once does Tony look back, he doesn't want to see the look of betrayal on Steve's face as Tony callously runs away, leaving him to face the firing squad. Luck seems to be with him as the doors on the elevators slide open and he crosses the threshold with nothing sharp and pointy sticking out of him. That's a good sign. Perhaps a small stay of execution, then. Just as he's about to ask Jarvis to enact protocol “Marlene Dietrich”, he feels Natasha slip in behind him and the doors close. No such luck.

 

 _Well that went just as planned, mastermind. Now we're trapped in a confined space with one very pissed off Widow._ _Brilliant. Are we allowed to hit a girl if she's trying to kill us? That makes it OK, right?..._ He doesn't turn and face her, but in clipped tones says;

 

“Do you have something to say, Romanov _?” _

 

“Depends, Stark. _ ” _

 

_ Non-committal, Nat's specialty. _

 

“On what, pray-tell?”

 

“On how badly Steve get's hurt.”

 

_ Oh, so we are just gettin' right down to brass tacks here. Fine, Romanov, the sooner this disaster is over, the sooner I can go back to pretending it never happened in the first place. Like Spring Break of '89. _

 

“What makes you think Steve's in danger of getting hurt? He's a big boy, he can take care of himself, he doesn't need 'Mommy' to put us in timeout.”

 

“Tony...Steve is...he's not like us. He's better. And if you ruin him, I promise, you will answer to me. You'd do well to remember that next time you feel the need to grab a post workout 'snack'.”

 

“First-your faith in my powers of seduction is appreciated, truly, Romanov, but you might want to slow your roll with the whole “shovel, grave” bff routine. I didn't go looking for a snack, I  _ was  _ the snack. Secondly, maybe  _ you'd  _ do well to remember that the next time you feel the need to be a Nosy Nancy and go sticking it where it doesn't belong.”

 

“Regardless of who was the “snacker” or the “snackee”-god this is an awful-can we never use this metaphor again-no one is sticking  _ anything _ in where it doesn't belong. Hands and feet inside the car, Stark. I mean it.”

 

And just like that she is gone, leaving Tony feeling like he should be checking for wounds.

That was a rare outburst. Nat makes threats she never intends to keep daily but she  _ never _ makes a promise she isn't willing to see through to the end. She is a woman of few promises. And apparently Steve rates one of them. Inspiring loyalty like that in someone as jaded as the Black Widow only proves her point. Steve  _ is _ better. A slight twinge of guilt sits low in his gut. He wasn't entirely honest with Natasha. Steve may have set this whole thing off but Tony had all but goaded him into it. But even more importantly,  _ we both know who finished it, don't we _ ?

 

Tony finally lets himself think of Steve, of how the two of them must have looked tangled and gasping in each others arms. The doors glide open on the top floor of Tony's giant glass domicile. He steps out and begins stripping out of his traitorous clothes. He can still smell Steve all over them. His body is still feeling the after effects of having been so aroused and he starts to painfully harden again. Damn you Steve Rogers.

 

“Jarvis, can you send any data of Steve and I in the kitchen in the last 20 minutes to my Pad and then erase every trace of it from the database? Just Hal-9000 it out the pod bay doors, ok? I owe ya, bud. ”

 

“Of course, Sir, I live to serve. Would you like me to send the data to Captain Rogers Pad as well?”

 

“Jarvis, you're getting salty in your old age, NO, I would not like to send it to Captain Rogers, as well. J....”

 

“Sir I sense your heart rate is elevated, and signs of stress are spiking your vitals, Is there something I can do to help, perhaps send for the good Captain?”

 

“Jarvis, take the sarcasm down to say a temperate 70? It's been a long day...days...hell, it's been a long life. Enable protocol “Dietrich”. I don't want to see or hear from anyone for the next 24 hours.”

 

“Very well, Sir, I have been asked to inform you that you have a meeting with the board tomorrow at 3pm, Miss Potts has made it very clear that you cannot cancel again.”

 

“How clear, Jarvis?”

 

“Miss Potts may have mentioned two Jimmy Choos and the new Louboutin boots.”

 

“That woman and her Imelda Marcos impersonation, she's going to bankrupt me, but it's for a good cause,  J.  Make it so.”

 

“Already done, Sir. Will there be anything else?”

 

“Jarvis, where is Steve right now?”

 

“Captain Rogers is currently in the gymnasium. Would you like me to put him on your screen?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Have a restful sleep, Sir.”

 

“Not sure that's possible. One can dream though...lights out, Jarvis. Catch you on the flip side.”

  
  


Tony finally grabs his starkPad and crawls into his ridiculously huge bed, wearing nothing but the scent of one Steven Rogers. He watches the feed from the state of the art gym that he had redesigned mostly for Steve. Steve is punching a triple reinforced bag as if it had personally kicked his mother. One jab after another, and then a swinging roundhouse and the bag implodes. Steve just unhooks it, tosses it on top of an already busted bag and calmly grabs another and goes right back to combos of punches. As far as therapy goes it's not bad. But Tony knows physical exhaustion will only get you into bed, it won't shut off your brain.

 

It does fuck-all for forgetting Steve's flushed face as the last of his orgasm rolls through him. It feels like a dream, now that Tony is ensconced in his bed. But it did happen. There is proof. Right at his fingertips. Tony pulls up the footage he had Jarvis send. It's juxtaposed to the live feed of Steve beating his demons back with his fists. Tony watches as he mocks Steve, calling him out. He watches as Steve descends upon him, and catches how Steve's blonde head shines brightly against Tony's dark one. He notices things he hadn't had the capacity to take in the first time around. When Steve takes possession of the kiss he realizes how close Steve came to breaking Tony instead. He doesn't want to fight it anymore. He and Steve are a house on fire. Tony takes himself in hand as he watches Steve come undone in his arms. He brings himself to a swift climax, with his eyes full of Steve and his heart ablaze. It's only a brief respite from the lust and love swirling in his bloodstream but he is able to drift off into a dreamless sleep. As oblivion takes him under the last coherent thought that floats through his mind is _ Steve's kisses taste like honey. _

  
  



	5. Punch Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is facing down a Widow, a Tony is no where to be found.

  


  


Tony Stark is a coward.

  


He is also a cad.

  


He has also just walked out on Steve. It was more of a saunter, actually.

  


_We kiss ourselves senseless, he turns me inside out and then saunters right out of the room._

  


Not a glance, not a word. Leaving Steve in a puddle, with Natasha between them.

  


_God, please strike me down now._

  


“Good morning, Steve. How was your snack?”

 

_She knows. Of course she knows. She's at the pinnacle of the espionage game, extraction of information a particular forte. And I was just making time with Tony in the team kitchen. How discreet._

  


“Hmm? Oh, very-uh, fine. thank you for asking. Sorry, Tash, I was just on my way out. To the gym.”

  


_Lies, all lies. That sounded casual, right?_

  


“Looks like you've already had quite a workout. I'll leave you to it, Steve.”

  


As quick as a shadow, Natasha is gone. And he is alone. Thankfully. Sort of. Natasha's sudden exit so close on the heels of Tony's leads Steve to believe that Tony is about to get a grade A Romanov take down. Some still reeling part of him feels a short-lived moment of satisfaction, Tony almost deserves it. However the rest of him knows that _he_ is the one who cornered Tony and kissed _him_. There hasn't been enough time to even process the fact that he's _still hot_ and damp, stained with his own release. Tremors still roam through him. He needs to go and change, regroup, find answers to the questions pounding in his head. And the only one who can give them to him is Tony.

  


He is absolutely not going to chase after Tony. He is NOT. _I've already shown my hand when I shook apart for the man._ If Steve is honest with himself he is still riding that current of desire. He can feel a stirring already, _What is wrong with me? How can I be heavy and hard for a man who, in the most literal sense possible, just abandoned me seconds after I came in his arms? He isn't just a man, though is he? He donned an iron suit he built out of scraps in a cave in the desert with a magnet strapped to his open heart to save his own life. And he's never taken if off, not really. How do I even begin to pry him open?_

  


Tony always keeps Steve at arms length with well placed sarcastic digs and teasing come ons. It always feels a bit forced. But once his mouth had been occupied with Steve's lips it had felt different, it felt real. It felt true. It felt right. _So what happened? Why is he not here still kissing me? Why is he running?_

  


With a disquiet sigh Steve moves down the hall to put himself and his clothes to rights.

The closer he gets to his quarters the more conflicted he becomes. He can feel the need to hit something, HARD, engulf him. He might as well give truth to his white lie and go to the gym. Because the idea of his empty room, his empty bed is enough to make Steve want to curl into a ball. He needs to use the hands that have been caressing Tony for something punishing. He needs to erase the bite marks with bruised knuckles. It won't last, by tomorrow his skin will be smooth and perfect again. But for today, Steve will have control, and he will bruise and beat his body into submission. He changes clothes efficiently ignoring a twinge of shame that slips under his skin. Within minutes he is in the gym punching his way through the morass between his heart and his head.

  


Four busted bags and hours later Steve finally succumbs to exhaustion. He's pushed his body relentlessly. He feels about as hollow and beat up as the rusted cans he and Bucky used to kick down the block. It is time to give in and admit that no amount of hitting things is going to fix this. He isn't eleven anymore and taking on bullies in back alleys. He needs to use his intellect to find the solution. Now that he's managed to erase most of the tactile memories of Tony with a brutal workout, he thinks he can attempt it without being distracted by the fallout of his first non-solo orgasm since 1945.

  


It's the first time that someone has touched him with such intent since being freed from the ice. It's understandable if his reaction was a bit, 'overly enthusiastic'. It doesn't have to mean anything more than a momentary lapse of judgment and an over-wrought libido waking up after spending more than half a century dormant. It was a perfect storm, Tony flirting and then goading him into a confrontation, Steve feeling the sharp loss of Bucky and his own regrets, and his endless drifting making him want a connection. Steve can see how he may have slipped his control a bit.

  


What he doesn't see is why it has taken him this long to call the feeling building between he and Tony by what it actually is, sexual attraction. Maybe it's because every person he has ever shared these feelings with has been taken from him. Bucky. Peggy. Both lost to him, by time, by fate. There aren't enough bags left for Steve to start in on this line of thinking. His hands have enough blood on them today anyways. Sagging against the wall, he lets himself have one small moment of weakness. He lets himself remember the way Tony's voice whispered his name like a benediction. Not a cheap, carnal mocking one either, no it had been like a prayer being answered. He had sounded awed. It made Steve burn, it rang of truth...and something _more_. So he'd kissed Tony.

  


_And loved every stupefying second of it._

  


Steve always feels the weight of each of his regrets, a constant burden. His penance for taking Erksine's formula is he is now the only person strong enough to carry a century's worth of them. The irony of that isn't lost on him. But Steve will not toss Tony on top of that pile. The last few hours of physical punishment has cleared his mind on that point at least. He does not regret kissing Tony Stark.

  


He might regret choosing to do it in the middle of a kitchen, practically on a dare. _Might._ He surely regrets Natasha being a witness to what ranks as the most awkward, embarrassing two minutes of his life. And he had once danced-badly-in ridiculous spangled tights on a stage on the edges of a war for scores of soldiers who had been fighting real battles. The bar was set rather high. But the true regret stinging inside Steve is that he feels disloyal.

  


For everyone else, the war has been over for decades. For Steve it has never really ended. He crashed into oblivion and when he woke up they'd told him we won and then shoved his shield at him asked him to help fight the next one. It's only been a smattering of seasons since Steve lost Bucky. Steve feels some days as if Bucky will come walking around a corner a with a “Lighten up, Punk,” on his lips as he tries to make a too-serious Steve laugh at all the craziness of this century. His heart still beats for Bucky.

  


Even Peggy knew that, after the fall. They had found a comfort and an understanding that given time, Steve could make room for her in there. But even that time was stolen from him. Steve knows that his grasping heart shouldn't still hold on to Bucky. He's gone. And it isn't as if they had ever gotten the chance to find out what kind of life they could have built together. They had lived in a time where a love like theirs was a dangerous, furtive thing. It had never been allowed to live in the sunshine. So why does it feel like he's betrayed a man long dead?

  


Perhaps because when Steve had crashed that plane into the Arctic to save his city, he was secretly relieved in some dark place in heart. He'd get to see Bucky again. If he and Peggy were never to have that dance, then he could go to his death with the final hope of seeing Bucky's trademark grin and soulful eyes and they'd sink into oblivion together.

  


But that isn't how it played out. He woke up here, now and saved his city once again. Isn't it fate's funny little sense of humor that the first person to come along and make him feel again is Tony Stark. Could there be anyone more closed off from his own heart than Tony? In all the ways that Bucky had been easy and open, Tony is jar-tight. And yet, Tony throws himself into Steve's body and his bubble with abandon. The boundaries that always kept he and Bucky in dark stolen corners of the night don't exist now. Each teasing remark, every single touch feels taboo for Steve. Steve may have a monopoly on self-restraint, with his serum strength alone he has to be constantly aware of the damage he can do, but he is still a man. Is it any wonder he fell under Tony's spell?

  


_But it wasn't just me, was it? Tony kissed me back. That means something, right?_

  


Trying to understand the motivations of someone like Tony is an exercise in futility. Even with Steve's enhanced ability to read people and situations and fluidly understand them Tony operates on a level of brilliance beyond him. His intellect is a bright quick thing, flashing and mercurial. Tony's soul may be torn, and his body put together more than once, but his mind is indomitable. When he calls himself a genius, mockingly or not, he's not exaggerating. Tony is in a field unto himself. It's a challenge. A challenge Steve rises to time and again. He knows Tony is the smartest man he's ever run across, and maybe ever likely to. But it comes along with layers of defenses and a lifetime of hurts and a heart that has been scarred more times than any one person should ever bear. This creates the perfect a problem to Steve's tactical elastic mind. This is what he does. He solves the problem. He sees all the angles, and makes a plan. Tony's angles are a funhouse mirror. Always shifting. Is it any wonder he ended up falling into Tony's gravity, he's been orbiting him for so long, searching for an answer to the anomaly of Tony. It's can be exhausting fighting the pull.

_When did I get here?_

  


Steve is standing in the middle of his bedroom. He has no idea how long he has been standing staring at the walls. At the sight of his bed he actually groans just a little. Steve listens to the voice in him telling him he needs to rest so he can knit himself back together. He usually has to force his body lie down to sleep. He knows the dark dreams will come. But this time he simply falls into the pillow, almost asleep before he is aware of it. He slips into a deep sleep. For the very first time, he doesn't dream about ice.

   



	6. Sound and Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avengers get a wake up call.

 

Far too soon Steve is roused from sleep. His first thought is it's rare for him to wake so abruptly and still feel groggy. That can only mean that he hasn't been asleep for very long. Secondly, he realizes it is not a nightmare that has pulled him from his bed. He had been mercifully NOT dreaming. The absence of his usual surfacing from frostbitten memories is almost overwhelming. If he didn't come gasping awake from ice in his heart, then what woke him up?

 

“Pardon me, Captain Rogers, I'm sorry to interrupt your rest, but I have been informed by Director Fury that your assistance is required. The Avengers have been called to assemble. Director Fury requests you make particular haste.”

 

_Ah, well that explains it. Director Fury 'requests'? Hmmm, more like threatened, he is not a man known for his patience or politeness. No rest for the weary._

 

“Thank you, Jarvis. Have Clint scramble the quinjet, inform the others, rooftop eta in 10.”

 

“Agent Barton is already on his way, you are most welcome, Captain.”

 

_At least someone still has manners, even if it is Tony's AI. Oh no. Tony._

 

Hazy memories from the kitchen blink into focus. The last thing Steve had seen before the retreating back of Tony had been a look of censure on Natasha's face, her body tense and questioning. These are among some of the moments he wishes weren't as crystal clear. He doesn't have time to worry or fret over any of the myriad of moments to choose from in the last 24 hours....no it's only been an hour since he racked out. He looks at his hands. _Less than six hours ago these hands were buried in Tony's hair._ He sighs heavily. Now they are bruised, but no longer bloody. The sharp cuts on the knuckles have begun to heal, but the fresh bruises are swollen and purple. It can't be helped. Neither can the fact that Steve ran himself into the ground and then spent hours shadow-boxing his failures for good measure. His body protesting in ways it hasn't since the Chitauri invasion, he drags himself out of his sheets and dresses in record time. He dons the shield and marches out the door, deciding to take the stairs up to the roof. It gives Steve slightly more time to push all the extraneous thoughts from his mind and focus on being Captain Rogers, a must if he's going to get his team home alive and whole. His reaction time leaves a bit to be desired, not up to his normal standards but he pushes away all the swirling emotions and questions whispering in his blood. He opens the reinforced fire door stepping into sunshine, it feels entirely at odds with the dark mood lingering behind in the tower.

 

He strides determinedly onto the pad and up the ramp into the waiting jet. Clint is already putting it through final checks. He swivels his head and gives Steve a quick two finger salute and goes back to his task. Not even a minute later Natasha is lightly stepping onto the ramp and briskly walking past Steve, giving him only a slight nod as she makes her way up to the co-pilot seat. Natasha has been merciful, no interrogation as of yet. Steve's relief is short lived. Out of the corner of his eye he catches sunlight glinting red and gold. A flutter starts in his belly. He ignores it as best he can.

 

“Morning Steve. Looks like you went a few rounds last night. Had a few of those nights myself.”

 

Steve snaps his attention to the small half-smile and clear gaze of Bruce Banner. Bruce always grounds Steve, something about how he holds himself, perfectly contained. Bruce epitomizes the phrase “Walk softly and carry a big stick.” He is purposeful in his intent and doles his words out like he is rationing them, using only what is required and no more. Unlike a certain Iron-suited cad who juggles words like grenades, friendly-fire be damned. Steve schools his face into something like polite interest, biting back a frown he can feel turning down the corner of his mouth.

 

“Good Morning, Dr. Banner.”

 

“Did Fury mention what this is about? You think, um, it might require the big guy?”

 

“We don't have any intel yet. I'm sure the Green Guy will be a last resort option, regardless of what we are walking into. I'm glad you are with us Bruce, we are going to need that brilliant brain of yours, that I _do_ know.”

 

Steve can see the unsolicited compliment wind it's way into him, and his awkward shuffle doesn't fool Steve, Bruce is as pleased as he is uncomfortable.

 

“Oh I don't know about that, you've got Tony.”

 

_Do I, Doc? Cause it feels like right now I most definitely do NOT have Tony._

 

“Speak of the devil, where is the flying tin man? We've got to get this show on the road, Cap, time's a ticking and I don't know about you, but I don't want to keep Director Fury-Pants waiting any longer than is good for our collective asses, as fine looking as they are.”

 

“I don't know Barton, have any of you spoken to Stark this morning?”

 

A sharp look from Natasha out of his peripheral makes Steve tense up. He may have been the last one to see Tony but they most definitely hadn't been speaking, although there had been a liberal use of tongues. _Oh no, no, no, focus..._ He turns into her silent regard, never one to back down. _Don't blush, do not blush, do NOT blush..._

 

Like blood in the water Clint catches the quick, silent exchange happening between Natasha and Steve. He is now giving Steve an appraising look, seeing purple-raw hands, the tired lean of his spine, awkward tensing of his shoulders, tight lines around his mouth, his marksman eyes not missing a thing. Sometimes Steve hates being surrounded by assassins who can read intent with a glance. He squares his shoulders to speak, but before he even gets a word out, a familiar voice breaks out over the the jet's comm channel.

 

“Speak of the Devil and the Devil appears, Barton. Didn't you learn that in your gypsy caravan days? What's crack-alackin' this morning? Fury seems to have an awfully big bug up his Plissken butt. Why are you dilly-dallying, Birdbrain, you need an embossed invitation?”

 

“Oh we were just having tea and crumpets waiting on your highness to descend from his shiny tower, oh great and powerful Oz. Get your ass in here, Stark. We've got orders.”

 

“I'm already on the way, you layabouts. I'll race you, Barton. Last one there has to kiss Hill without getting punched.”

 

“I may be off my nut, but I'm not that far gone, man. I don't have a death wish. Although I can't say I haven't wondered what it would be like to scale Everest.”

 

“Still not much of a team player, are you Stark?”

 

“Are those the dulcet tones of my favorite Russian nesting doll? Come on, Romanov, you know you want to take that Hill, always up for a challenge, aren't you?”

 

It was time to put a stop to this, biting the bullet Steve asks, “Tony, how far out are you?”

 

“Oh, I'm pretty far out, Captain, why, you think you can catch me? I'd like to see you try. I'll be siting next to Fury, waiting for the lucky loser before your sweet star-spangled ass has even landed, lickety-split...”

 

_Of course you will, that's your MO, isn't it, to lick and split..._

 

The absolute silence that descends is jarring. Everyone is now staring at Steve with varying levels of waxing interest from shock to outright glee. And he realizes in utter mortification, he has just said it aloud. He could blame it on his lack of sleep, or his thinning patience, but Steve knows better. The fact that the silence is stretching with no witty rejoinder from Tony is even more telling. Gritting his teeth he barks out,

 

“Wheels up, Barton. Let's not keep the Director waiting.”

 

Anything that might have come across the comm, or anyone else's lips is lost to the sound of the quinjet taking off. Everyone settles into an uneasy silence and Steve can only sit down and try for normalcy, his thoughts on what tactical nightmare they will be walking into when they arrive at SHIELD hq. And most definitely not on the tiny gasp his hearing had picked up from Tony's comm-link. Nope. Not at all.

 

~

When it comes to Steve, Tony is a coward. He knows this. He unapologetically embraces the motto 'he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day'. Sometimes retreat is all you have left. Even knowing this, his heart flinches at the sound of Steve's bitter volley. Who knew he had it in him? And with the entire team listening in. Low blow, Steve, baby. And really, what can he say? Steve is right. He absolutely left that giant hunk of perfection standing alone facing down a Widow, flushing vestal virgin lips still stained red, among other things, from Tony's plundering. He deserves what ever is coming to him. Even knowing all this he can't help but feel a deepening irrational anger settling in.

 

He cuts off his comm and tries to focus on flying straight, going over the readouts in his HUD, since this is the first flight since his most recent modifications.

 

“Jarvis, how are the power linkages looking, we losing any thrust?”

 

“No Sir, there is a 20% increase in repulsor efficiency and all power is holding at optimal levels.”

 

“Hot Damn. That's what Poppa likes to hear. Maintain present speed, and keep an eye on the relapsing fuses, and run a full diagnostic, see if we can shake any bugs out.”

 

“I am running full diagnostics as we speak, Sir- if I may be so bold, I do wonder if it was a good idea to embark without the rest of the team, considering you are currently operating at less than full strength. You have had only 5.2 hours of sleep in the last 41 hours and 22 minutes. And you are testing new repulsor upgrades. Miss Potts will be unhappy should you not make it back for the meeting she has so magnanimously rescheduled.”

 

“Jarvis, you and I both know I've done crazier things, remember Bali, I made it out of that with no problems what so ever and I hadn't slept in a week. I'll be fine. F-i-n-e fine. We'll send her a nice fruit basket, filled with shoes.”

 

“Forgive me, Sir. I did not forget Bali, it took Miss Potts and the legal team of Stark Industries five days to get the local Magistrate to release you on your own recognizance. Shall I alert Miss Potts to have the team ready in case?”

 

“Jarvis, you already know that Pepper has them on 24 hour retainer, so let's just use our inside voices and by that I mean inside our heads, silicone based or otherwise and Shut up. Let's focus on getting me to SHIELD in one piece, shall we?”

 

“Of Course, Sir.”

 

_J's not wrong, Stark. This is not our best idea._

 

Tony is aware of his reckless behavior, he knows it isn't really surprising to anyone else anymore either. He should have gotten on the jet with the others. But he had awoken in a panic at Fury's directive, his head still smoldering. As he pieced himself back together along with the memories of the last few hours he knew, _knew,_ that he couldn't face Steve yet. With the sound of his own name spilling out in broken whispers from Steve's cherry lips still ringing in his head and Nat's promise hanging over him like the sword of Damocles, Tony had chosen the path of least resistance. He had suited up and taken off before anyone was the wiser. He also knew he was merely staving off the inevitable. He honestly doesn't know what will happen when he sees Steve next. Some dark part of his soul is deviously rubbing it's hands together, in anticipation. But the clearly NOT insane rest of him is determined to be smart and pick his spot and wait. He will take every advantage he can get against someone as skillful as Steve when it comes to tactical application in the field. Besides, Steve had kissed _him_ first. So it begins. _Bring it, Rogers._

 

_~_

 

The quick flight to SHIELD cannot end fast enough for Steve. The lighthearted banter from earlier is gone. After Steve's uncharitable quip no one is willing to draw the ire of their Captain by directly speaking to him. Steve can feel the looks passing between Natasha and Clint, in that assassin second-hand they share. Bruce is sitting, with his eyes closed meditating, maintaining his sense of calm in the midst of a cabin that is blanketed by conflicting emotions telegraphing from Steve himself. He's not being much a leader right now. He should be bringing them together, not breaking balls. Even if Tony's balls had it coming.

 

When Clint begins his descent to the landing pad, Steve impatiently stands and lowers the ramp before they've even set down. He is out and quickly striding through the lobby of SHIELD before any of the others have even gotten out of their seats.

 

Steve can see the sleek, suited profile of Agent Coulson awaiting him at the end of the hall. Coulson is cool and collected, palms lightly clasped in front of him as Steve approaches. Coulson has a bit of an infatuation with Captain America, it always makes Steve feel a little awkward. Clint said it's called 'fanboying'. Steve still doesn't really understand what that means, but it reminds him of the girls who used to wait with pieces of paper after the war bond shows, giggling and asking Steve to sign them and then practically swooning when he gave them his fake smile. You'd never guess it to look at him, but Steve feels the pulse jump excitedly in Coulson's hand when he reaches out to clasp Steve's, softly intoning,

 

“Captain Rogers, how good to see you, thank you for the quick response. If you and the other Avengers will proceed to Conference Room C, Director Fury is already awaiting your arrival. With Tony Stark. We might want to, ahem, make haste.”

 

“Thank you Agent Coulson. Lead on.”

 

Tony alone in a room with Fury. This should be interesting.

 

Steve feels Natasha silently slipping along behind him like a shadow. Which means Clint is right next to her, they flank him like an honor guard. Bruce is trailing behind, in his own special Bruce bubble, which pretty much means a twelve foot diameter circle of death. Steve has gotten used to the stares of SHIELD agents and staff as he and the team traverse the halls. Normally Tony takes center stage, with a constant string of talk and teasing and taking the brunt of the attention. Steve suspected early on it was just a distraction to secretly spare Bruce, he knows how much the military complex tends to make him jumpy. Tony might act like an ass most of the time, but he has his reasons, it isn't all just diabolical chaos and wanting to find out what 'might happen'. And it isn't just to keep Bruce from going green. Steve knows it is because Tony cares. He cares about his team.

 

_See, I can be nice, See how I just complimented Tony?_

 

A nervous shiver runs through Steve as he approaches the office door. He is about to lay eyes on Tony. The last time he had seen Stark's face- _was it only six hours ago?_ \- Steve had gone nuclear and scattered across the universe and was only just starting to reform. He hesitates. He can hear Tony's lively cadence as he no doubt is taking pleasure at irritating Fury. Natasha lightly touches his arm, and he glances down at her unblinking eyes. She gives him a rare and beautiful smile of encouragement and nods, giving him the boost he needs to go through the door.

 

“-all I'm saying is that if you wake me up and oh so politely ask me to 'assemble my- shiny-metal-pain-in-your-ass right god damn now' I believe were the words, you could provide adequate food and not this poor excuse for a- what is this, a muffin?-oh gods, it's the saddest little muffin that could-go back little blueberry muffin, go back to your Mommy and Daddy and live a long and fruitful life-and what is this-for shame, you call this coffee!? The angels weep, Fury, WEEP. I can't- this is just- Jarvis, please make a note: have Pepper send the Director the number to that little place, the one with the incredible croissants-this is a travesty-”

 

Steve steps into the room to take in the tableau of Nick Fury, standing at the head of large conference table in his trademark black coat and eye patch. A hand pinching his brow, his good eye closed and his shoulders radiating a kind of tension only Tony seems to bring out in him. His other hand is tapping out a rhythm against his thigh clearly counting to some unknown number.

 

At the entrance of the team, he quickly opens his eye and shoots Steve a thunderous look. Tony is on the opposite end of the room, pawing through a basket of baked goods, casually leaning against the wall, legs crossed at his ankles, looking rumpled and utterly unconcerned in a black fitted shirt, the arc reactor glinting through the weave. He looks up just as Steve turns towards him and goes silent. Their eyes tangle and the world tilts. Steve's stomach does a slow roll. _Oh god._ He wants to kiss Tony. Again. Oh, this is going to be a long day.

 


	7. WallFlower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission. Steve gets A little of his equilibrium back.

 

Tony has been playing his favorite game. The game is called “Make Fury Yell”.

 

_Okay, yeah, maybe the name needs work, but give me a break here, I'm coming off a two day bender._

 

He has been counting along with all of the finger taps that Fury has been slowly beating a tattoo with. He can tell he's close now. Just a few more inane ramblings and Fury is gonna blow like Krakatoa. Just as Tony can feel he is about to crack, the door opens and in walks the rest of the team, led by their fearless leader.

 

Tony is struck mute. Steve's blue eyes catch him and pin him to the wall. This is what he's been balanced on knife point for, the last minutes ticking by endlessly. _Steve._ Tony's been wondering what he will find in Steve's eyes. Disappointment, anger, hurt, _lovelovelove...shut up heart-_ these were all edging out at the top of the list. He absolutely did not expect to see the heady combination of hope, lust and chagrin. Tony's mangled heart trembles.

 

_Oh Steve, you gotta be kidding me? You can't do this to me, you just cannot be this soft-hearted. I'm an ass. DO some yelling, perhaps some punching. STOP looking at me like that. I do not deserve kisses and blushes and your sweet baby blues lookin' at me like I'm the cream and you're the cat. Oh gods, wouldn't that make Fury's head explode, Captain America kissing Iron Man in the middle of a mission briefing...it might be the best idea we've ever had. That's right, come closer my dear, Captain...closer, so I can bite those lips crimson..._

 

Steve is drifting towards Tony as if there's an invisible elastic cord stretched between them that is snapping them together in slow motion. And then Natasha cuts it by subtly placing herself between the two of them, breaking the trance. And probably saving them both from a colossal mistake. Even if it would have been worth it. Totally. Worth. It.

 

_Fuck's sake, this is getting dangerous._

 

“How nice of you to grace us with your presence. Oh please, please take all the time you need, it's not as if there is anything pressing to concern yourselves with. Would someone like to enlighten me as to why I had the express pleasure of Stark's ebullience a good ten minutes before the rest of you deigned to walk through the door?”

 

“Oh, Director, you've been using the word a day calendar I gave you for Christmas, I knew you'd -”

 

“Shut it Stark I wasn't talking to you.”

 

“Director, we got here as quickly as we-”

 

“Captain Rogers. Next time when I say right damn now I mean RIGHT Damn-”

 

“We'll we are _**here**_ **NOW** , and if this is as time sensitive as you seem to be implying it is scolding us like children who forgot to wash their hands before sitting at the supper table doesn't seem to be in anyone's best interest, so perhaps you will stop wasting **MY** time and get to the _damn_ point...Sir.”

 

_Holy shit! Be still my beating heart. Did Steve just interrupt Fury and give him the most Norman Rockwellian dressing down ever? Why yes he did. Oh, that might be the hottest thing I've ever seen. Fuck me, baby. I am gonna kiss you so damn hard for this later. Oh Steve my sexy, insane, super soldier. What the hell has gotten into you?_

_~_

 

Steve is pretty sure that he should care more that he just clearly went insane. That is the only explanation for the outburst that just came out of him. Every eye in the room is boring into him, and he knows he should probably be stammering over an apology, or at least seem contrite, but he just doesn't have it him. He is tired of this century and everyone's expectations to be a perfect soldier. He is tired of being told and not asked. He's just tired. All he can think about is sinking into his bed, sinking into chocolate eyes and a mouth that sets him on fire and damning the rest of the world and what it has taken from him. Yes, insane. He's pretty sure this is what it looks like, after all he did just walk into a room with some of the most dangerous people on the planet and all he had wanted to do was kiss Tony Stark through the wall. The strange hysterical edge of how funny this whole thing is suddenly hits Steve and he just slides into the closest chair and waits for the other shoe to drop. Because he knows it will.

 

Fury is glaring down at him. An awful quiet is rolling through the room. Steve can feel Fury looking for every single tear in his tattered soul. Let him look. Natasha takes the seat directly to his right, between he and Tony. Smart woman. Clint takes the seat on his left. His loyal phalanx, or perhaps they are Fury's, either way, he is now flanked by two lethal deterrents to escalating things further. Bruce is in the corner, doing his best to appear as non-threatening as possible and Steve finally feels a flash of guilt. He knows it takes a lot for Bruce to make these trips. Steve takes one last look over at Tony who is still leaning against the back wall, his jaw actually hanging open and a wild look in his eye. A look Steve is starting to understand means he is incredibly turned on. Figures bucking the biggest authority in the room gets Tony hot. Steve makes the circle back to Fury and just calmly waits.

 

“Alright, Captain. Point taken. Let's get to it.”

 

The tension immediately bleeds from the room, and he can feel Natasha and Clint ease back just a fraction more into their chairs. Bruce, quietly takes a seat alone on the fair side of the table, and Tony doesn't move at all.

 

A glass wall on the long side of the room comes to life with readouts and a grid map of the northern hemisphere pulls up, showing real time data.

 

“I'm sending you to Yellowknife. Well, about 200 miles north of there. But its the closest major settlement. So you better dress for the cold.”

 

Steve feels a numbing cold of his own start to curl through him. Fury continues on,

 

“We picked up some strange emissions and readings about 45 minutes ago. The last time we've seen anything with this kind of signature is when we found the Tesseract, and subsequently, you Captain.”

 

That makes Steve start in his seat.

 

Tony pushes off the wall and moves closer to the wall of screens displaying coordinates, maps, and streams of scientific data, only half of which Steve himself can begin to make sense of. Bruce stands and joins him and they start pointing and murmuring to each other.

 

Natasha asks the pertinent question.

 

“Are we sure it isn't the Tesseract?”

 

“No we aren't sure of anything Agent Romanov, this is why we have called you in. All we know is that the last time something like this showed up it was alien tech. It is not of this planet. And since we have no contact with Thor and Asgard right now, we cannot know for sure what it is or isn't until we actually get boots on the ground.”

 

“So for all you know there could be another god wielding a mind-control scepter wandering around the Arctic like a giant Yeti, looking for, what? Polar bears? Are we about to have a polar bear army? They are getting back at us for global warming, aren't they?”

 

Even though Clint sounds like he's joking, Steve can tell he's covering. Mind control is a trigger for him. He still hasn't quite gotten past the trauma from Loki's bid for world domination that started with him.

 

Bruce speaks up, suddenly. “Tell them.”

 

“Tell them what, Dr. Banner?”

 

“Whatever it is that you are hiding, It didn't go so well for you last time. Is it more weaponry? Trying to find another power source for your next great war, Fury?”

 

“I'm not hiding, if there is another power source out there it's better off in our hands than someone else's, we have to consider every possibility, but you think we didn't learn our lesson the first time around?”

 

Tony snorts and jumps into the argument, “oh, Riiiiight, because SHIELD has been so trustworthy up until, now. Getting caught doesn't mean you learn anything but how to be sneakier the next time. You've got your fingers in more pies than Little Jackie Horner, Fury. The old 'it's safer with us than with anyone else” card, you already played it. It's in the discard pile now. Pick a new one.”

 

Steve finally asks the question that's been eating at him, “Director, you made it seem imperative that we handle this quickly, so far nothing you are telling us is on a time sensitive schedule. So at the risk of repeating Bruce, What are you NOT telling us?”

 

Before Fury can answer Bruce darkly says,

 

“I know what it is. Look, Tony, see it? Look at the gamma patterns...”

 

“Brucie-boy this is your specialty I don't- oh, oh. I see- god damn, Fury, way to bury the lead-”

 

“-It isn't just a signature, It's a pattern, a living breathing pattern. Only it's destabilizing the entire tectonic plate. This could eventually shake the planet apart.”

 

The whole room goes silent. You could hear a pin drop. It goes on so long it becomes uncomfortable. Everyone knows what Bruce has really just said. The end of the world.

 

“How long?” Steve asks.

 

Fury responds a bit subdued for the first time since they walked in the room.

 

“We can't be sure, the pattern isn't one that we have been able to make any kind of future projections for, it behaves as if it is evolving, or thinking, not just repeating. As of right now this is all contained in a 50 mile radius in the Arctic. We need more information. If the radius becomes over 400 miles wide we will start to see destabilization of heavily populated areas and the countdown begins. We need your team to go and save the planet, Captain. Again”

 

As that sinks into the room, Steve catches Clint muttering to himself,  
“Polar bear army isn't looking so bad now, is it?”

 

“Alright Director. We'll co-ordinate with your science team as an observational unit only. I don't want SHIELD anywhere near actual. Once we see what is really going on up there then we will revisit the idea of working tandem. But until then the Avengers will be taking lead.”

 

“I've put Agents Hill and Coulson at your disposal, Captain. You will be working directly with them. We want to keep this as contained as possible until we know what we are dealing with, we don't need panic spreading.”

 

“Natasha, work with Coulson on any equipment and provisions, and logistical we are going to need. Barton, make sure the jet is prepped and all the coordinates and data link ups are working. Remember sensitive instruments don't like to work in extreme cold.”

 

_Don't I know it._

 

“Bruce I'm gonna have you set up a makeshift information hub, and a lab to analyze the pattern and track this anomaly, I don't think you, or the Other Guy, will need to be any near this. Go with Natasha and have them give you whatever you require.”

 

Everyone immediately stands and begins the task of preparing for the unknown, swiftly and quietly pairing off. Fury is silently watching Steve, still with an undefinable look. Agent Hill steps into the room and stands at attention until Fury acknowledges her.

 

“Yes, Agent?”

 

“Sir I need to go over a few last minute details with you regarding the mission,”

 

“Well let's not waste any more time, then.” he says, looking right at Steve, a reminder that he hasn't forgotten his earlier outburst. Steve knows that breach of conduct is going to haunt him.

 

And just like that Steve is alone in the room. Well, almost. Tony is still watching the screens of data, lost in thought and stroking his lip again. Steve has been staving off chilling shudders since Fury mentioned Yellowknife, his body already screaming at the idea of being back in the cold, the ice, the black. But one look at Tony and a desperate needy fire springs to life inside of him. Steve isn't quite sure what it means but all of a sudden his heart is hurting. As if it started beating again just this second, even though its been years since he came out of the ice. Tony turns and looks at Steve, a question on his lips. Before he can give voice to it Steve feels the thin band holding himself together snap.

 

This is Tony's fault. He's going crazy, his careful, regimented life was all he had to keep from spinning out and crashing. Tony changed all of that in seconds. And then walked away. And now Steve doesn't recognize himself. Tony left him a mess. A rising frustration is giving way to anger in Steve. He doesn't have time for this. He doesn't have time to put himself back together and save the world. He doesn't have time to explore the obvious feelings that Tony has awoken in him. He spent all those years frozen, time just marching by, and now he'd give almost anything to get some of it back. His blood is buzzing now, a kind of anger fueled arousal is building. It's not fair that Steve is the only one drowning in this mire of lust and longing. And now Steve is expected to push all that aside and go out into his living arctic nightmare, more confused then he's ever been. This is how people get hurt, or even worse, don't come back at all.

The tiny rational part of his mind left functioning knows this is happening because Steve pushed his body past a limit. His strength is failing him. But another part of Steve is reveling in letting himself feel unfettered, even if it's only for a few short minutes.

 

“Something you need me to do, Cap?”

 

_Oh you bet there is Tony. You can join me in this Hell._

 

“Yes, Stark, you can do what I tell you to, for once.”

 

“Well, it's nice that you have goals, Cap, but that's probably not gonna happen.”

 

“We don't know what we are gonna be walking into Tony, I can't be expected to keep everyone safe if I don't trust that you are going to follow orders. Why is that so hard for you to understand?” Steve's voice is now creeping into a dangerous belligerence.

 

“Since when is it your job to keep everyone safe, Rogers? Last I checked every situation we walk into is a fucking fiasco of death waiting to happen. We are your team, not unruly children. Just because you're head honcho doesn't give you the right to treat us like we can't think for ourselves. It must be so nice up there on your high horse. Perfect Steve, never makes a mistake, always has the answers, always knows best. Didn't you just give it to Fury for pulling the same shit, as hot as it was. I don't think you want to be pushing me into a corner, Captain.”

 

 _Like hellfire I don't, it's all I can think about. Then you can't leave me again._ Steve begins encroaching upon Tony, a clear challenge. Tony doesn't back down.

 

“You don't know the first thing about what I want, Tony. You think I haven't made mistakes? You think I don't carry every single one of them in my soul? My entire existence in this century is built on them, piled up with regrets I can't even number. I wish I'd never been pulled from the ice. Because it never ends. There's always another fight, another battle, another loss. And I go, I fight, I try, and I lose. But what good is fighting if there is no one left to fight for? If you keep recklessly throwing yourself at the world eventually You won't come back, TONY. Don't you see...?”

 

_I need you._

 

They are now standing inches apart, anger flashing between them like heat lightening. Steve is a hairsbreadth away from hitting Tony, or kissing him, he doesn't know which.

 

“Like you'd know the first thing about being reckless, Steve. I don't need you to fight for me.”

 

“You don't know what you need, Tony.”

 

“Oh and you do? Care to enlighten me, oh Paragon of Perfection?”

 

“I'll do more than enlighten you, Stark.”

 

Steve, lets all the anger and pent up frustration pour out in one fluid motion. He grabs Tony by the arms and slams him up against the glass screen behind him. A moment of shock registers in Tony's eyes and a sound of cracking glass then Steve is devouring him. The kiss is as brutal as the first one was soft. Steve forces his way into Tony's mouth, stealing his breath. He isn't so much sharing a kiss as he is demanding one. A hot spike of dark pleasure surges through him. This, this is what he has wanted, needed, since he saw Tony leaning up against that wall, giving him that come hither look. Oh god, it's like his bones are on fire. He feels Tony's loud groan reverberate through him, their bodies are pressed so tightly it is almost as if it was coming from his own chest. The hard bite of the arc reactor between them is the only way Steve can tell where he ends and Tony begins. Tony is now, biting at him, pushing back with his own hands, trying to get some purchase, an upper hand, take control of this wildfire.

 

_Oh that's not gonna happen, it's my turn now, Stark, let's see how you like it._

 

When Tony tries again to push Steve back, Steve takes Tony's wrists in his grip and locks them up over Tony's head, giving Steve even more leverage against his body. Tony bows against him, a keening moan flying from him. Steve takes the advantage and begins pulling gasping kisses in earnest from Tony's hot lips. The burn of his beard is igniting the feral part of Steve he didn't know existed. This is what Tony does to him, brings out something real, hard, true in Steve's hidden heart. They are both painfully erect, and driving into one another and starting to grind a rhythm. It's too much, too much. Steve pulls back just a bit. He releases Tony's hands and Tony immediately grabs his face, his hair, he is pulling Steve with all his might, pulling him back down into the fire. Steve grabs his waist, he is now the one trying to create some space between them. He will not be unmanned again. He has to do something but it feels too good to stop. He positions his hands better on Tony.

 

Once Steve has a good hold he spins Tony around and presses him into the wall. Tony's sharp gasp as his face is pressed against the glass makes Steve almost come undone. Steve nestles his hard length right up against Tony, settling in the cleft of him. He hitches him closer, one arm practically holding him upright, banded across his chest. He sends the other down and starts stroking Tony through his pants.

“Steve, oh Steve, you devil...You are killing me, oh kill me more, more more....” Tony is delirious and rolling his hips against Steve. And now Steve starts the true torment. He begins to whisper in the shell of Tony's ear,

 

“From the second I walked in here and saw you, all I could think about was kissing you, pressing you up against that wall, in front of God, Fury and everyone. Of claiming your mouth, making you mine. Make no mistake, Tony I'm going to have you against a wall, tight and hot and needy. And when I do, you will be the one who comes undone. You'll beg before it's over. It'll be my turn to leave you in a puddle, nothing left but your beautiful scorched heart.”

 

Steve drops little kisses along Tony's neck, grazing his teeth along his sensitive flesh. He wraps his teeth at the delicate point where Tony's neck meets his shoulder and bites him, and then begins sucking, leaving his mark. Tony's entire body goes limp on a whimper as he sags into Steve, and now Steve is holding Tony tight against his body. And he can feel the shudders wracking Tony's body, as the fire they started hollows him out. Steve lifts his mouth and can't help but let out a little huff of satisfaction.

 

“But right now, Tony, We have a mission to plan. So do yourself a favor and remember this the next time you want to openly challenge me when all I'm trying to do is save your life.”

 

And then Steve lets his arms slide off of Tony's shaking body leaving him to hold onto the wall, panting. Steve steps back, and puts himself to rights. Uncomfortably shifting at his own powerful arousal. And then turns around and blithely steps out of the room. He finally feels like he has found his equilibrium. Now he can focus on what he needs to do. It also doesn't hurt that as he's leaving he hears a whispered “hell of a way to win an argument, Cap...”

 

 


	8. Cabin in the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heading into yellowknife , Steve faces his fears.

Tony isn't quite sure what is happening. Perhaps a bizarro world? How does Steve do it? He feels like some fumbling teenager in a backseat. He begins to wonder if he isn't still in bed. But no. This feels real...the webbing on the cracked glass under his palm and the bruise blooming on his back are telling him that it is. He lifts his other hand and runs it along the bite on his neck, a delicious burn sets in when he presses and his fingers come away slightly damp. Yes, this is most definitely real. The things Steve whispered are still pinballing inside him, leaving little explosions in their wake. He is panting and his skin feels too small to fit the universe expanding inside him.

 

_Steve Rogers just pulled a sexual power play on me._ _And it was spectacular. It was Fibonacci spirals and fireworks._ _It's also completely out of character. Where did Steve learn to do that? How dare he, manipulation is MY thing_.

 

Steve has surprised him once again, and Tony doesn't like surprises. Tony really doesn't like it when things don't add up. He needs to wake up, he needs about 15 shots of espresso, he needs Steve's hands on- _stopstopstop, there's something we are forgetting here, Stark..._ The map grid in front of him is the reminder that once again life is never fair. _Right, End of the World 4.0, the pattern._

 

Tony steps back from the glass with a rolling of his head, stretching his neck. He needs to put Steve on the back burner, and all the wayward thoughts of walls and whispers. _Way easier said than done, fuck my life._ Something catches his attention. A niggling feeling that he is not seeing something important, just out of reach.

 

_Welcome to the party pal. You can sleep when you are dead and by the looks of it that might be sooner than later. So, get your head in the game._ Tony finally finds his focus.

~

 

Steve sits on the floor, legs fully extended, metal biting into his back. The low drone of the engines hums into him. He slips into a lower consciousness, not quite asleep, but inbetween, his body mending itself. All that has faded away. There is an absence of being. Steve drifts nowhere at all. Until he comes back with a startle, mind and body violently slamming together. He feels cold.

 

_Cold. No no no....the ice. Not real, not real...._

 

Steve opens frantic eyes, terror clawing at him. He's awake, alive, blood is rushing in his veins. Not dreaming. The air is chilling, and his confusion dissipates like smoke. Yellowknife. He's heading back into the freeze. A sharp clang rings out at Steve's ear, and he turns his head to the sound. He can see a stack of equipment he's lying next to has come loose. He reaches with his right hand for the strap and pulls too hard tightening with a discordant belling of metal. He winces and runs the other hand up his face rubbing at his eyes, then back through his hair, reassuring himself on some deep level that he is here. Any sleep Steve had gotten before the call to assemble is a distant memory. He knows it had been blissful and deep, no dreams. Since waking up to a room that wasn't quite right, and a nurse that wasn't quite right, and to a world that most definitely wasn't righthe dreams of cold, and regret, and loss. O _r maybe it's me that isn't quite right._

 

He pulls himself out of his head and falls back on his training. A quick assessment to take note of his team. Clint and Natasha are up front in the pilot seats, Bruce and Tony are still fiddling with the tech Tony had procured and ripped into no sooner had they taken off. It is taking up most of the main cabin, which is why Steve finds himself sprawling in the nook.

 

Bruce is hunched over a pad, his back to Steve, talking to himself and Tony is facing towards the nook, clearly watching him. Steve is surprised to find a challenge in them as their gazes lock. There are moments Steve feels like Tony is the only person who sees him. How much could he guess at if pressed? How much damage can he see in his soul.Steve's body begins traitorously pulsing with the intimacy of their connection. The whole world falls away, sloughing off in layers, leaving him raw. It's only the two of them again. Steve has to fight this. He can't give in every time his blood burns for Tony Stark, yet here he is, letting Tony practically undress him with coffee eyes. Tony turns the full force of his considerable sexual magnetism on like a high beam, and Steve can feel the blush starting under his skin as he blooms like a rose, and a deeper burn of shame in his gut at his weakness for this man. Steve breaks away, admitting defeat.

 

 

~

 

Tony and Bruce have been tinkering for a while now, and an unexpected quiet moment has fallen. Bruce is looking at the data readouts and Tony has been mulling over the most efficient way to increase the radial distance. His eyes are a bit unfocused, and just as he's about to drift into equation nirvana a banging brings him to instant attention and annoyance rises swiftly. His eyes refocus on the long lines of his favorite pain-in-the-ass Captain, supine among the equipment in what must be sleep, although it looks more like a coma. Steve still looks amazing, even in sleep mode. Maybe especially in sleep mode because Tony can look all he wants. Anyone who says they wouldn't be doing the same exact thing given the chance is a filthy lying liar. _I mean, look at you! You’re tragically gorgeous, no one stands a chance. Fuck, you even make sleeping erotic, it's obscene, Steve._

 

He startles when Steve's body bucks out of nowhere and he comes instantly awake. _Jesus, Cap- no wonder you don't sleep much-I wouldn't either if I woke up like I had a cattle prod shoved in my-make note of this Stark when we get that man in our bed, no cuddles, we might lose something vital-hold up...Is that...is that fear-No, that's outright terror. Shitballs._ Tony knows that look, he knows that panic better than he feels comfortable admitting unless very drunk or dying. Something is wrong. Data is starting to compile in his head, and like a bloodhound that now has the scent he thinks, _The most disgustingly honest man I've ever known is hiding something from people with the biggest trust issues in the galaxy. You need to spend a little more time assessing yourself, Cap, if you ask me, which you didn't cause you know I'd tell you to stop being such an asshat._ But then Tony is pretty much the self-proclaimed 'king of denial' so he hasn't much of a leg to stand on there, not that it's ever stopped him before.

 

Steve seems to have pulled himself out of his nightmare and Tony knows any second he's going to search them all out one by one. Steve's first instinct is always to assess his team.

He is thinking _it will simply NOT do to be caught mooning over Captain America_ , when he gets caught mooning over Captain America. _Damn, Well alright Cap, let's see how you like losing this round 'cause it ain't gonna be me, baby._

 

Tony refuses to look away instead he intensely stares back into the blue depths of Steve's wide eyes. Anger and a stubborn will collide as a strange staring contest springs up. This is one contest he is going to win, he's due for a little payback -Turn about, fair play, and all that. Tony gathers every bit of sexual tension running through him, all of the pent up desire that Steve has plumbed from his depths and left swirling through him. He throws it all right back at Steve.

 

_Just try and ignore that Cap, you cocktease_.

 

He can almost feel Steve hanging on to his stoicism fighting as only he knows how, but still losing. Tony can taste victory and a lethal smile curls his lip. He almost crows in satisfaction when Steve furrows his brow, and looks away, rigid lines of his jaw and a blush betraying his feelings. _How does it feel, eh? Too bad, Steve._ Tony laughs lasciviously and chalks up a win for himself. He turns his back and dives back into the task at hand and is quickly lost to everything but the equations.

 

The next time Tony looks up Bruce has a somewhat amused tilt to his head.

 

“Did you ask me something?”

 

Bruce glances down at his hands and back up as if keeping his composure has become a bit difficult.

 

“Oh, about 22 minutes ago, I'd say. Give or take. I believe we have a new record,”

 

“And you've just been sitting like some Buddhist monk on a mounta- what record? There's a record?”

 

 

Bruce sends a speculative look to Natasha who has her feet up casually slouched next to Clint. He turns his head in time to catch a grin, sly and calculating, steal across her face.

 

“Pay up, boys.”

 

Clint snaps his head up, “Aww, no fair, I've been out of the country Red, I didn't get to-” Natasha leans closer towards his seat her eyes not blinking intently into Clint's.

 

“No exceptions.”

 

“But-” a loud hiss escapes as Natasha pinches Clint in a most uncomfortable area. “Okay, okay, I see your point...vixen” he quickly concedes.

 

Tony finally catches up to the fact that the entire team has been betting on his inability to shut the fuck up. Well. Isn't that flattering. Actually, 22 minutes isn't too shabby for someone as verbose as Tony. And yet. Tony watches in simmering irritation as Bruce and Clint proceed to scrounge and place bills in Nat's satisfied hands. He taps his fingers against his leg, and just as he's about to loose something scathingly witty he hears Steve move up beside him and conspiratorially offer,

 

“They don't mean anything by it, Tony.”

 

_Yeah, like I need you to tell me that, Rogers. I understand team dynamics too, you bleeding heart. I'm fine._

 

He scoffs, “Well I am the most interesting person here so it doesn't surprise me. I'm just wondering why no one came to me and got in on a little double action.” He raises his voice and continues “ I mean, half of you _are actual spies_. We could have cleaned up. Ah, well, missed opportunities, suckers.”

 

Tony finally gives in to the need to look at Steve. He is smiling and looking down, his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. Sometimes Steve is so fucking gorgeous Tony wants to punch him right in his face. The jerk.

 

“It reminds me of the guys, back in the war. Anything to break up the monotony. Once someone started there was no stopping it. The bets and dares would begin tame but got more and more outrageous, you wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you.”

 

At that Steve lets out an easy laugh, such a guileless, carefree sound that makes butterflies take flight somewhere inside Tony. It's a sound he has never heard before. He is charmed and can't help smiling back at Steve's eyes sparkling with memories. Steve animatedly starts talking, his body looking lighter and suddenly seems younger, and Tony can see what must have been a devastating combination back in his day of irrepressible wholesomeness and the confidence of someone who knows who he is.

 

 

“There was this one night, after Azzano, we were staking out a possible Hydra bunker and it was freezing. DumDum and Morita had been arguing for a good twenty minutes about the name of this cheese they had eaten at some village a ways back, and we were all about to strangle either them or ourselves. The rest of us were willing to try anything. That's when Bucky, he comes up with the clever idea to-”he stops short.

 

Tony's smile falters and the butterflies drop as he watches Steve's face fold in on itself on a wince. Steve clears his throat, and the years fall back into place, the weariness and regret pouring off him. “Well, it was, uh, a long time ago, what I mean to say is that it's just a part of being a team.”

 

He is clearly regretting sharing, and Tony wonders not for the first time about Steve and his past. James Buchanan Barnes is the one Howling Commando Steve never talks about. In fact, this might be the first time Tony has ever heard Steve mention him willingly. _Did you call him Bucky? Why, yes you did. Well this isn't awkward or anything. Steve you have been keeping secrets._

 

Tony feels an uncharacteristic urge to do something nice and break the tension instead of causing it. It's urges like this that usually get him in trouble but seeing Steve so unburdened even for a few seconds makes him want to try.

 

“You know Aunt Peggy used to tell me stories.” He squints his eyes, mockingly suspicious and staring up at Steve, “I used to think they were made up, or perhaps embellished to the point that it didn't matter if they were real or not, figured she was attempting to shock me. However, I'm starting to wonder now...” and gives him a reassessing once over with a small smirk.

 

Steve smiles, “Well, I certainly wouldn't want to make a liar outta my best girl, so I suppose you'll just have to keep on wondering, Tony.”

 

“Why Mister Rogers, ever the gentleman,”

 

“Oh, it has nothing to do with chivalry. That woman is quite the shot- trust me. The first field test of my shield was rather, uh, unexpected. I took a five shots to the center and another to my ego as well. Howard never let me live it down. He was the most amused I've ever seen him, I think we both kinda fell a little more in love with Peggy that day.”

 

And right there. This is why Tony doesn't do the caring stuff. Blindsided by memories of dear old Dad, times where he would let Tony into his office after more than a few snifters of brandy and tell him about the good old days and his perfect soldier. Tony had been young enough he had still been trying to get Howard's attention. His weak years, as he calls them, where he craved his father's approval like some kind of bitter drug. He hoarded those moments like cursed treasure. Tony remembers every confessional night, his father's brandy ramblings about the war, about Aunt Peggy and Shield but mostly Captain America. The sudden reminder jolts Tony back to himself and he vows right then and there to stop doing nice things.

 

“Yes, that was one of his favorites. I suppose it's good to know Howard wasn't always lying. He did so love to embellish, I never quite knew where the truth lay.”

 

The sudden change in the cabin as Tony bristles with his own memories has Steve reaching out a hand in apology, offering comfort Tony doesn't need or want.

 

“I'm sorry Tony, I didn't-I wasn't thinking-”

 

Before Steve can touch him Tony sharply steps back and crosses his arms, stuck somewhere between holding himself back and aggressively ejecting himself from the moment. Steve frowns and looks guilty as he pulls his hand away.

 

“Cap, let's not and say we did, okay? These trips down memory lane are always so predictably _boring_...Greatest generation, my greatest invention, blah, blah, blah. Let's talk about the future, or the impending death of the planet, you _are_ the man with the plan, after all. What fresh 'doomed to fail' scenario have you got in store for us, how am I gonna die this time?”

 

A strained pall falls over them. The return of Bruce feels like the Hallelujah Chorus, and Tony quickly ropes him into the tension, grabbing on like he is a life preserver.

 

“Brucie-bear, Cap here was just getting ready to tell us the next step in the so-not-going-to-fail plan of ours.”

 

Steve shoots a hooded look at Tony but turns to Banner's inquisitive gaze all trace of emotion hidden, but still churning. Outwardly he is the All-American Hero again. _It shouldn't be that easy, Cap._ This is what Tony thought he wanted but now that it's happening he is vexed.

 

“There is a safe house in Yellowknife, one of Fury's he has stashed around for 'off the book' ops. That is where you are gonna be, Doc. Our base of operations. Once we get set up the rest of us will be heading out to the last known location of the signal, and start a concentric search pattern, depending on what we find, well...your guess is as good as mine.”

 

“I can't say I wish I were going with you, but I do want you to be careful, Steve. If it _is_ Loki...getting control of a super soldier, and Captain America, at that? Well, you would be quite-”

 

“A weapon,” Steve frankly interrupts.

 

“I was going to say an advantage. But you aren't wrong...” and Bruce shrugs his shoulders, the facts being unavoidable.

 

“Doc, I've considered that. I know the risks. There is a contingency protocol in place. I will mitigate the risk as much as I can, please trust in that, but if worse comes to worst Natasha and I have a mutual understanding. If I am compromised, she is under my own orders to neutralize the threat.”

 

The unspoken death sentence Steve has placed himself under makes Tony's guts knot. He doesn't want to admit that Steve is right. But it's true. Steve could become a liability, a huge fuck up of a liability. Any of them could, really. With the exception of him. Loki already tried that once. Natasha and Clint are lethal, but they are still human and limited. In his suit he has enough of an advantage to best them if he absolutely has to, but Steve? Steve under mind control would pretty much mean his ticket gets punched. He's too powerful, he'd be a bright and terrible weapon just like he said. All of the chaos that Loki could do and would do with just one Steven Rogers, it's unimaginable.

 

But is it Loki? It's already quite an assumption as the probability of him breaking out of an Asgard prison and finding his way back here is low. Sign number one, Big brother isn't here. There is no way the Golden Barbarian would miss this party, or not find a way to warn them. Tony doesn't like to make mistakes, never count your chickens and all that. So if it isn't Loki, Tony is putting himself dead center in the bullseye.

 

 

 

He decides, for once, to keep mum. There will be plenty of time to fight Steve on this later. He would rather keep to their muffled truce, as nebulous as it is. letting Tony take point on this kind of unknown threat will not be sitting well. Steve always prefers to be the one in front, with his damn shield. He says it is to get the lay of the land but Tony knows it's because he secretly needs to be the wrecking ball. _Drawing all the attention, and most of the damage like he's the one with a giant armored suit,_ Tony grumbles to himself. He doesn't look up when Steve and Bruce begin to talk in earnest. He goes back into his hyper-focused state and everything falls away. If there are any answers here is where he will find them. The more data gathered the better.

 

The rest of the flight goes by in a blur. When Tony finally recognizes the change in the engines he has reconfigured the bastardized tracker twice. He hisses his annoyance at Clint when he attempts to pick the unit up and walk it down the now open ramp.

 

“Whoah, whoah, no touching-oh, for fuck's-if one hair is outta place on her gorgeous head I'm gonna blast your ass, Clint. Got it? I'm gonna need verbal confirmation that you understand, Barton. Use your words.”

 

“Yes, Tony. I understand. Just drop her anywhere, got it.”

 

“You feathery assh-”

 

“Fellas, if you'll permit me?”

 

Natasha slips past, adroitly lifting the delicate machinery with nothing but pure grace. Both men fall silent and watch her waltz past with her hips swaying hypnotically. Clint gives a low whistle. Tony hums in agreement. Then the moment is over when they both come to and Clint slaps Tony's arm too forcefully,

 

“Hey man, Eyes up Stark. If you value your valuables.”

 

“Always trying to get your hands on the family jewels-”

 

“Ha, not me. Her.”

 

The Widow. Having narrowly escaped Natasha's wrath so recently he doesn't need a reminder. The smile falls from his face.

 

“Ah, well yes, you make an excellent point, sir.”

 

“Besides,” Clint loudly whispers, “I can think of someone who'd appreciate the attention more...” Clint points at Steve waggling his brows in a very lewd manner. Tony imagines building a time machine and using it just to avoid this very moment.

 

In a nonchalant manner that is all lies he comes back with, “Hey I am an equal opportunity ogler. A 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may Old Time is still a-flying' kinda guy.”

 

_Fuck You, Barton._

 

If Clint notes his lack of denial he doesn't let on. He merely shrugs and dramatically rubs his hands together.

 

“Well, _my_ rosebuds are starting to freeze, let's get this over with.”

 

Tony feels a cold burst of air and in his peripheral Steve flinches away. If soldier boy is feeling this then it must be extremely cold. His own body begins shivering immediately as Tony wildly grabs at the winter gear Bruce has nicely put aside for him _-Bruce you are definitely the favorite for a reason buddy._ The frigid air burns his nostrils. It wakes Tony faster than a shot of adrenaline, _why it must be 0 degrees. The actual fuck zero. This is ridiculous, why would anyone willingly live out here?_ The sky is a dusky glow. Tony grabs the closest crate next to him and tromps down the ramp, glancing back only once to the glint of honey hair in the low light. He scowls and turns into the cold.

 

When he exits he is greeted by a treeline of pine trees and shrub brush ringing around a small clearing of yellow lichen-covered slabs of rock tossed aside like a giant toddlers blocks. Ice limns the edges of everything like salt rims a glass. To the left is a lake. A hundred yards in front of him a dark lake house barely stands out against the endless twilight. It isn't particularly impressive or even eye catching, but at this moment it looks like the Palace of Versailles. Fears of never being warm again cut into him and Tony's step hastens, he comes barreling through a side door, into what is a mud room.

 

One of the walls that would normally have cubbies for various winter frippery is angled oddly and Tony realizes that it's a hidden door- and he can see a glow of light bouncing off the wood beckoning him forward. He suddenly remembers his obsession with secret passages during his 8th summer. He searched the entire estate, firmly convinced he was going to 'discover' the great Stark secret treasure room. He may even had had a whip. And a hat. But that's not important. What is important is that Tony feels a thrill of excitement, anything 'not boring' is good.

 

He follows the light down a long steep passage that gradually opens into a large gleaming laboratory. Bells, whistles, there is even a small infirmary on the corner. And there in the center of the room is his playground, he gravitates towards the tech covered benches, the tables housing tools and a wall of screens that are already glowing with data as Clint is finishing the satellite linkup. Tony forgets about the cold, he forgets about the lack of sleep, or food, or anything other than the million fragments of ideas that collide in his head with this level of equipment to work with.

 

_A “safehouse” my shiny metal ass. This is NO safehouse for off book ops. This is one of Fury's very own hidey holes. Holy hand grenade! As end of the world surprises go this is pretty sweet. Oh, I am so going to jump on Nick Fury's bed. There is a silver lining here, after all. We can ruin all of Fury's furniture later Stark, right now bask in the glory that is technology. Come here my beauties...lets see what you are hiding under your pretty metal skirts..._

 

Tony does just that as a second wind hits him and he gets to work.

 


	9. Coffee Conundrum

Steve is standing alone in the jet staring out into the darkness. The night isn't quite as dark as he remembers. It's more a perpetual dusk. He gives himself two long breaths to calm his racing heart. Then he grabs his shield and the heaviest thing around and briskly walks down the ramp. He ignores the creeping chill plunging into the cold, into the house, then back out into the cold, over again and again until all the equipment and supplies have been carted from the jet.

 

His last steps are more stiff than he expects. His body should be fine, he runs hot as it is. But he isn't fine. It's more an absence of feeling, a numbness. He shuts the door behind him, locking out the cold. He leans heavily against it for a second as if to imprint it's solidity into his consciousness. Pulling the cloak of his will together he continues down the passageway towards the light.

Glancing around the state of the art lab, his tactician's eyes takes it in looking for weak points, not finding any. _This is a bunker. So, another of Fury's little secrets. No black ops just a super spy hideout. Fury has burned one of his own fallbacks for this, more evidence that things are worsening._ A belligerent part of him thinks it would have been nice to have known this earlier, but his heart just isn't in it. He sees Tony working on something with a blowtorch already, at least some things don't change. Bruce is unpacking crates and Clint is fine tuning some equipment. Natasha is quietly watching him from the corner closest to him having swept the house clear. He calmly regards her before approaching with an uneasy set to his shoulders.

“So, this place have a kitchen, Tash? I'm sure I can't be the only one who'd sock a guy for a warm meal...”  
  
“Hmm, I don't whether to be flattered or insulted, the “Aww shucks” routine, not buying it, Steve. Something is worrying you.”

The implied ' _Tell me_ ' pricks at Steve’s conscience.

“That's putting it mildly. Not worrying would make me an idiot and possibly insane.”

Natasha stays silent, waiting him out.

“Alright, Natasha. I'm not happy with the plan. It's not...right. I have considered our options from every angle. The only way that gives us any advantage or warning if it _is_ the staff or similar alien tech is for Tony to take point on this.”

She stares up at him intensely with a question in her eyes.

“I trust Tony. I trust the team,” he answers with conviction before she can ask.  
  
“Then what, Cap.”

It's like she telling Steve not asking. As if she already knows but needs him to know, too. So very astute. Steve cannot afford to go into the field distracted. So he does what he has always done and digs deeper and turns and faces his fear. So. He isn't alone anymore. What he does affects everyone now. He has a team. He cannot add one more person to the line of people he has failed. But looking at it from the other side of that same coin, now he has a team. _If I'm going out into oblivion I won't be alone_. Either way, Steve will take it.

He swallows and pushes his doubts into the hole in his heart. Losing any of them is not an option. But deliberately placing Tony like bait in the heart of the fray, that's something else. If it's best for the team he'll do it. But he doesn't have to like it. He nods slightly, the tension easing as Natasha raises the curve of her mouth.

“I really am hungry. I'm gonna go put something together, gather with the team, then well talk logistics, set up a grid, get a rotation going, have Bruce-”

Natasha reaches out and lays her fingertips lightly on Steve's forearm, stopping him. She squeezes and then pushes him away playfully.

“Cap-go. Dismissed.”

Steve nods as she gives him a jaunty salute and swallowing a sigh turns on his heel heading up the passageway once more. He needs the team to work together, and to do that he needs to be Captain America not scared Steven Rogers facing his personal nightmare. So he resolves himself to the next task with a soldier's stride.

At the top of the passage he turns right and pushes through a door into a small foyer. The scent of beeswax and wood hit his nose and he closes his eyes. He's assaulted by memory: It's Sunday afternoon and he is in a church pew, legs swinging above the marble floor. He sees hands on a hymnal out of the corner of his eye, a rosary clutched tightly, _those are mother’s hands..._ his own begin to tremble. He doesn't have time for this. He tears himself out of the memory hurrying past a bank of windows on his left. The lake beyond is a dark morass, like Steve's heart. Sometimes this happens, memories from a time long gone echo in the scent of things.

He crosses a great room trying to shake it off, working his way through various seating combinations of couches and chairs. A giant iron and marble hearth and rug takes up the wall in front of him. He veers away from the massive fireplace and is relieved to see a butcher block island. Steve's body is wracked by a shudder, and he barely stops himself from cracking the counter with the need to anchor himself to something real. Steve runs his hand along the wood beneath it instead.

He reaches for a wall switch and a soft glow lights up pine walls, lending a coziness to what is actually a very large kitchen. He takes in a deep breath and slowly releases it. Steve sometimes get overwhelmed in kitchens. There are so many tools, gadgets, even spices that he has never heard of or would even have thought to ask for. Folks never had this much when he was growing up. The vastness of choice feels fantastical and wasteful at the same time. So much excess. He may never get used to this century.

He has never claimed to be a cook, he gets by, but his metabolism is so fast that he pretty much will eat whatever is placed in front of him or what he throws together. Clint and Bruce are actually the ones who have talent in the kitchen. Clint's knife skills are impressive and Bruce has introduced Steve to so many new kinds of vegetables Steve has started a list.

Steve eyes the four different machines sitting atop the counter in front of him. One of them must make the coffee. _Oh boy, this might not have been the best job to take on. It always comes down to the coffee machine. Why should today be any different?_

 

 

He squares his shoulders and chooses one that seems to have at least some kind of carafe made of copper with a brass eagle on the top.He approaches it as though it might come to life and start attacking him. He's spent too much time in Stark's Tower, not every shiny appliance is sentient and out to get him. Although give Tony enough time and out of boredom he's pretty sure Fury would come back to an entire cabin of killer toasters.

 

Steve eyes the multitude of gauges and levers. He can tell that one of the levers detaches with a little strainer basket attached. It must be where the grounds go. Luckily he can see a canister on the counter top full of beans. Whole beans. Sigh. A memory of a cold morning, a tiny fire, a little tin percolator on the flames as Dernier stretches the meager grounds another day, the water more brown than flavorful suffuses him. Bucky had traded for it back at camp, he thought Steve hadn't known he'd given up his favorite knife, but he had. Steve had later gone back to Samuels and 'won' if off him in a game of poker, after...after the train.

It hadn't been the first time Steve had used his cardsharp skills he'd honed in his sickbed days to get them things, but it had been the first time he had brutally shaken a man down that hard. He cleaned Samuels out, along with three other guys from his unit. His anger and grief had made him immune to their looks of incredulity. He'd garnered a reputation after that night. If his new team only knew that Captain America could cheat with the best of them. Clint suspects, but he's never called him on it.

Steve shakes the memories off and opens the canister. The rich aroma rises up like a ghost, and Steve is reminds himself he has a job to do. He pulls open a cabinet, searching for a bowl. Finding one, he sets it down and looks from the bowl to the whole beans. 

He grabs a handful of beans and makes a fist. He tightens his clenched fingers, feeling the hard pebbling surfaces begin to crack and grind together. It feels good to use his strength to destroy something with only good intentions. The scent of a dark roast is enticing and he begins to smile for the first time since stepping in from the cold. Once the bowl is full of pulverized grounds he slowly rubs his hands together, feeling a delicious shiver run up his arms as the tiny granules make his palms itch in the most wonderful way. He used to do this as a kid with his soup crackers.

 

Gooseflesh breaks out over his body but not from the cold. It's a fleeting reminder of how at odds he has been in his own body the last hours. He takes a scoopful of grounds and places the little basketed lever back into the copper and brass contraption. He realizes that water is the next step. But where does it go?

 

Frustration leaks through him as he begins to search the machine, leaving fingerprints in his wake. _Hmmm....perhaps it is hidden? Yes! The eagle!_

 

Steve smiles in satisfaction as he lifts the entire top off by the eagle, like the fancy cover to a food tray. There is a canteen style stopper underneath and spins it open. He grabs a large glass from the next cabinet over and proceeds to the sink, another giant copper monstrosity. And once again, there is no lever, or clear cut way to simply turn on the water. What the heck is wrong with people? Why does everything have to be hidden nowadays, Tony has told him time and again to get with the times, but modern design baffles him. He will NOT be outsmarted by a faucet. After spending what is absolutely an acceptable amount of time staring down an inanimate object, Steve slowly moves his hand underneath the spigot and out of nowhere clear water pours forth, as if my magic. Steve squeaks in surprise, and the second his hand jerks back the water stops. He does it again and when the water turns on once more a grin breaks out on his face. It's one of those sensors, he remembers Bruce explaining these to him his first few weeks at the Tower.

Apparently the Big Guy does not like them, as Tony discovered when Bruce accidentally destroyed his entire bathroom. Steve had laughed but secretly sided with the Big Guy, he had avoided his own shower for the first month, just using a washcloth, soap and the sink. He had finally caved and asked Jarvis for help, now he just asks for his preset favorite and Jarvis does it for him. No one has to know that he still hasn't attempted to learn the shower controls. He does feel like he deserves a bit of leniency, I mean there are seven shower heads and sixteen settings alone. Fantastical wastefulness.

 

He happily fills the glass and makes a few trips back and forth filling the reservoir. His confidence is high as he spins the top back on and put the eagle topper back. He picks up a tiny porcelain cup next to the machine, it looks ridiculous in his hands like he's at a child's tea party. He places it directly under the basket of grounds. The next objective, get the water heated. He searches the entire base, the Elektra logo shining brightly under his fingers. Finally he finds a switch. _Here goes nothin'._ He flips the switch.

 

Literally. Nothing.

 

A growl escapes him and he flips the switch back and forth a few times. All the goodwill he has fostered is out the window and his shoulders slouch in defeat. Damn Coffee machines, every damn time...

 

“Son of a biscuit...”

 

 

Just as he is about to try again he hears a sarcastic drawl,

“Close but no cigar. That's an espresso machine, Cap.”

Tony. Perfect. Just another layer to his failure.He swings his eyes over to Tony and gestures at the tableau, “I haven’t even-how do you know I wasn't-”

 

Tony is lightly tapping his temple, “You forgetting in your old age already? Genius.”

“You'd have to stop reminding me for that to happen, Tony.”

“Well, I see how it's gonna be. I _was_ going to generously offer my services and unique expertise, but now I think perhaps not. Natasha was mistaken when she said you had been beaten by the mean bean machine. I can see you have it _all_ under control.”

So this is Natasha's doing. _Huh. What is she playing at?_ Up until just now she's been expertly keeping the two of them apart, or at least, never alone. This doesn't bode well for Steve, it's probably her not subtle way of telling him to deal with his feelings about using Tony as a shield. He was hoping  to have a few more hours of rest and maybe a full stomach before going toe to toe with Stark again. He needs to have all his wits about him, and right now all he has is dread and a slow moving apathy like a hypothermia of the heart.

In a rare moment of self-pity Steve wearily lets loose, “Honestly Tony, it doesn't make much difference either way. Make coffee, don't make coffee. It won't matter. Once we are out there in the dark this will all be a memory. Warmth, shelter, even hot coffee, they all disappear when that kind of cold gets inside. So do whatever you want.” 

  
He glances over. Tony looks like he has wandered in on something taboo, which on Tony is morbid fascination, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. He slips his hands into his pockets. Lets out a whistle and spins around making his way back from where he came, an “Okay, Captain buzzkill...” grumbling in his wake.

Guilt begins to flutter through Steve at his dark outburst. Suddenly he sees how very much it will matter and calls out, “Tony, wait.”

Tony turns halfway around giving Steve a questioning look. He can't seem to let Tony walk away again and so he goes to his fail-safe, his one sure fire way into Tony's good graces, Steve plays the ego card and issues forth with a flirty-edged,

“You, may be right Tony. Perhaps I could use a, a _man_ of your very ah, _impressive_ , and I hear, _highly coveted_ skill set.”

There is a brief moment where nothing is heard but the tic of a nearby clock. Then, a smug twitch of lips and Tony leans in asking pointedly,

“Mhmm, what's the magic word?”

Steve furrows his brow in concentration then earnestly replies “Shazam?”

Tony stares wide-eyed for a full two seconds then bursts into laughter, pulling his hands from his pockets and covering his mouth, trying to cram it back in.  
  
“Oh, oh Cap, that is, well, sure. OK, I wasn't specific. Yes, most definitely that is a magic word.”

Steve knows this is some new millennium thing he isn't quite getting. But he's seems to have made Tony laugh in a way that sends a spark of heat spiraling from his toes to his fingertips so he just smiles and lets Tony have his fun.

“So you'll stay?” Steve can't help the slight hope that breaks in his voice.

“I kinda have to now, just to see what adorable thing you'll say next, Cap. You did say, _the_ magic word.” Tony glides back over with his trademark stride like he's owned every room he's ever walked into.

“Also, babe, clearly you've forgotten the last time one of us asked you to get the coffee. Perhaps Clint's spit take on the ceiling rings a bell? Right. So. We don't do that anymore. Ever. It's best for everyone involved. No offense, Cap.”

“Steve.”

“Hmm?”

“Not Cap.”

“Well technic-”

“My name is _Steve_. I know you can say it, I've heard you.”

 _Last time you were practically moaning it. Oh no._   _Not again, not right now. STOP._

 

“Okay _Steve_ ,” Tony's voice cuts at him, dripping with sarcasm.

“Thank you, Tony.”

The gruffness in in his voice gives Tony pause, eyes boring into him searching for the schematics of his soul, like he's going to open him up and find out exactly what makes Steve Rogers tick.

“So, which part of my, 'impressive skill set' is it you are in such _need_ of exactly, _Steve_?” all Tony's considerable insinuations and sex appeal trips out into the room, a flirtation of senses tangle as Steve shuffles his feet, now wary. Tony pads closer sensing weakness.

“Cause you know I'm a man of _many_ talents... _Steve_ ,” emphasizing his name as if he is licking it off his fingers, tasting him. _Whoa_. His heart thrums in answer and just like that Steve is a banked ember rekindling, flaring to life.

_Here we go again. I'm gonna get us all killed. Because I can't stop this burning. Find something else to do, now. Stay on task, soldier._

 

 

His throat is dry and he has to clear it before he finds his voice.

 

“That dam- that has gotten the better of me, I admit it...” Steve says pointing to the bane of his existence.

 

Tony follows Steve's gesturing and takes a moment to deepen the smirk.

“Ah, this little ole' thing? Well, let's see what I can do, shall we? No one can resist once I get 'em under these babies'' he says wiggling his fingers.

Steve valiantly pushes the echo of those very fingers on his body away and tries to regroup.

 

 

Tony sidles up to the Espresso Machine and begins cooing to it, whispering like a lover, running his hands along the bright copper, smudging the fingerprints Steve left behind. Steve feels his cheeks color for no reason, other than he feels like he is intruding.

 

“What did that mean old Steve do to you beautiful, yes, yes I know, he can't help it though, look at him, he's too pretty himself, don't be mad. Let Tony make it better...”

 

Steve frowns at the obvious dig at his very open sore spot on display for Tony.

 

“Tony, I swear I did everything right.”

 

“Everything, huh?”

 

And at that Tony turns to Steve, raising one eyebrow he reaches behind the machine, and without breaking eye contact, draws out a cord with a plug on the end, spears it into an outlet and flips the switch. The sounds of water being heated at an astounding pace fill the room.

 

Steve's cheeks fill with blood. _Unplugged. Oh Lord._

 

 

 

 

"Seems all you had to do was _turn it on...Steve_."

Tony smiles like the cat that ate the canary and Steve can feel his pulse speed up. He is never quite sure how he ends up in this position, the one always at odds.

 

Steve fights the rush of desire and marching past Tony opens the first door he sees on the far wall, that is where the food will be. If he keeps his hands busy he won't embarrass himself any more than he already has by trying to fill them with various parts of Tony. That's the plan. This is what he tells himself.

With a desperate kind of assurance Steve grabs the handle, opens the door and steps through. Right into a broom closet. He stands staring at a mop and bucket wondering where it all went awry. He's hiding in a closet from Tony Stark.

A rumbling chuckle rolls in like a fog bank, cresting over him and he is on fire, equal parts humiliation and desire now. He stiffens and refuses to turn around. The chuckle is now a laugh of melodic syllables as Tony realizes Steve has no intention of turning around.

“Ha ah,..Hey Steve-I have one tiny question-just, ahem, can you tell me-will you be coming out of the closet anytime soon, you think?”, and then a joyful noise pours forth as Tony loses the battle. His gales of laughter are as quick and bright as he is, it's a beautiful cacophony.

 

 

Steve swallows a curse. Even when he's laughing right at him, something about the honest joy is appealing. He risks a glance over his shoulder to see Tony bent over at the waist, one hand raised up in supplication, shoulders shaking. Steve sighs, there is no point in prolonging what is now to be another moment in a long line of ones where he comes out looking like a rube. He sets his shoulders, juts his chin and turns into the laughing face of Tony Stark, who is pink and flushed and so very smug.

 

 

~

 

 

Steve is facing him with resign in his eyes, but saying nothing. And Tony is half-mad with mirth at the little gift fate has dropped in his hands. It's like Christmas morning, or that first bite of a perfect grilled cheese sandwich. Tony cannot contain the bliss flicking through him, Steve's stoic countenance as his neck blooms red only makes the moment more delicious, to be savored.

 

“You won't come out, really? What if I offer up something to wet your whistle...something _hot_ and _sweet._.. whaddya say, _Steve_? Wanna get your lips wet...”

 

 

Tony slips his gaze to those damn lips and then back up into that shiver inducing face and drifts inestimably closer.

 

“I'll meet you halfway, see...” and Tony steps into the closet.

 

Time seems to have slowed. They are sharing the same air, staring into each other. Time enough for Tony to make and unmake his mind up of what he will do now that he has Steve trapped.

 

 

Time starts up again when Tony leans in twining his arms round Steve's neck and places his lips against those perfect cherry ones. Steve retreats with a small gasp of surprise pulling Tony against him in the dark. He can feel Steve stiffen as he's pressing along the planes of his body so he tightens his arms, pinning him closer. Steve breaks the kiss trying to speak, it comes out like something vaguely resembling a sentence, if he were an alien.

 

“Wha-wait...moment...Tony, need, take-hold...slow, try, lets...we-”

 

Tony is 48% sure it's an attempt to stop this madness, but it's hard to tell. He expects Steve to start peeling him off like an unwanted limpet any second now. He's scraping his teeth along Steve's jaw, sucking the lobe of that perfect ear. The tantalizing hitch in Steve's voice and the shudder that shakes through his muscled frame has Tony gloating.

 

“Careful Captain, your virtue is showing...”

 

“Tony, we need to stop.

 

“But we're just getting started, haven't even gotten to the good part, Steve,”Tony pouts and rolls his hips. A golden buzz ripples through them that has Steve biting back words on the smallest of moans, somehow all the hotter in it's intensity. Steve is all hard angles and Tony can feel how aroused he is, so this protest is Steve being noble, not uninterested. How very Steve.

 

“There's never _not_ a good part with you, Tony, that's the problem.”

 

“Are you telling me Dear Captain that I'm 'too good'? Cause that's, ha, well, a first. See, this is why I stick around, to hear Steve Rogers accuse _me_ of being _too good_...if you want I can be bad...or even better let's _both_ be bad, together, Come on Steve, it'll feel _so_ good” Tony presses his advantage licking a stripe under that chiseled jaw that's been driving him crazy since the second he saw it jutting out in pure defiance only Steve can summon.

 

“It already does f-feel, oh...that, this isn't the point, Tony.”

 

“Then what IS the point, other than the very large one in your pants, I would be most willing to concede to _that_ point, particularly on my knees, why Steven are you blushing...”

 

“Tony, you are making this harder than it has to be, please”

 

“Now come on, that one's just too easy, Cap, you can do better than that. You're _up_ for the challenge here...” a laugh lets loose as Tony can almost feel the consternation in Steve's eyes.

 

“Tony, I'm begging here, I need you to listen-”

 

“Oh you haven't even begun to beg, but you will mon Capiton, we both will, you promised...”

 

“Fuck, I-we can't, Tony...”

 

The sharp joy of hearing Steve curse curls into him, but is short lived as Steve brings his hands up and slowly unwinds him from his neck. While sliding off Tony makes out a flash of regret and something more. Steve is at war with himself. Not a measured response but a reaction. This game they've been playing is starting to burn them both he thinks, a surge of dark dissatisfaction filling his gut.

_By hook or by crook, baby._

 

 


	10. Closeted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FAllout.

Steve is close to caving. He steels his jaw. This is about to get worse. He tries to soften the blow as he unwinds Tony’s arms from around him. He folds Tony’s hands into his own but the dark glint in those eyes says he's already failed, like he always seems to these days. 

 

“Rogers, just what are you playing at here?”

 

The armor snaps back in place as Tony shakes out of his grasp, stepping into the half light spilling from the kitchen. It's cutting across his body in slices of shadow, he’s eyeing him distrustfully, and there’s a spike of fear; he might have miscalculated.

 

“So it's back to Rogers now?”

 

“Would you prefer Tyler Durden?”

 

“Who is-”

 

“The first rule is we don't talk about it.”

 

Steve ignores the clear jab at his referential naivete, always an easy mark for Tony and attempts to pull them back from the cliff they keep inching towards.

 

“That's a shame because not talking is how we got here, Tony.”

 

“I see Barton has not been keeping up his end of the “Help Steve Not Be Such a Noob' pact. How have we not watched Fight Club? Oh, that was the 'Day of the Doombots', as if Doom could ever create anything as intelligent as a toaster let alone an armada of robots, but I digress. Where was I- Yes, the day  _ you _ , our ever vigilant Captain somehow missed a fucking building collapsing on top of us. I handled it, concussion notwithstanding, but you...” he says pointing a finger accusingly at Steve.

 

Panic rises up in his gut; he remembers that day all too well. Tony had called him 'Punk' with the perfect shade of inflection, so much so, that Bucky came roaring back from the dead; suddenly it's 1945; copper on his tongue, the ping of an empty rifle clip’s in the air and that sardonic smile of Buck’s turned up ever so slightly, like newsreels before a picture show. Struck dumb, Steve missed the whole building breaking apart above them and Tony had been borne down beneath a sea of glass..

 

He remembers his frantic rush to the flash of red and gold, shield already flying, dashing against the rebar and concrete tomb falling around Tony. How he reached Tony in time he’ll never know, careening them into a crevice between walls, plowing into him with such force that Steve dented the suit. It’s the bone-chilling fear that flooded through him when he saw Tony lying there, body twisted at odd angles, a crumpled heap of metal, silent like a mountain pass that almost broke him.

 

He visibly winces.

 

Tony turns up his chin considering a myriad of unknown variables to toss at him next. 

 

“Where was I? Ah,right,  flying Doombots and invisible walls- You, YOU started this! Following me around with those big puppy dog  eyes for days on end, full of regret and all those extra-curricular emotions, listen up soldier, you can’t just pin all that focus on a guy and not expect--Come on, Ste-Captain-”

 

It’s true. Steve had beaten himself up for days after, weeks; he remained inconsolable and so full of remorse he could barely say two words to Tony, avoided him altogether, but fifteen weight bags and half as many broken bones later and Steve had pivoted, following Tony from room to room within the Tower, trying to explain how sorry he was. But those had been empty words, and Tony had said as much hurling them back like flash bangs as he high-tailed it to ground. 

 

“-And now you’re gonna walk in here and give  **me** a speech about responsibility and how compromised we already are?!”

 

Tony’s agitation is clear as he tugs at his hair into exasperated peaks,fisting before throwing them wide.

 

“Let me ask you something, are you ever going to stop nailing yourself to the cross? “

 

It lands like a slap. Steve rears back in shock.

 

“Tony, don't you see-I lose focus, just one time and walls fall, rails break, and I, I can't-I won't-last time you came so close-and it was all my-”

 

“NO, you don't get to pour your heart out to me while pushing me  **out** of your arms Rogers, no you don't get to absolve your-”

 

“I'm not looking to absolve myself, I'd never, it's not a choi-”

 

“-Oh Yes it is, Captain.”

 

“Please, can we just talk-”

 

“ NO, we can't.”

 

Tony is shooting daggers at him. There is nothing Steve can do. He sighs, rubs his temples and surrenders to Tony’s outrage with a sinking bitterness.

 

“Fine, You win, you always do.”

 

“Hmm no, case in point,  **I DO not** always win, otherwise I'd be on my way to getting well-fucked not standing in a broom closet getting friend-zoned. So, you and that jaunty high horse you rode in on can piss off. Good Day.”

 

“Ton-”

 

“I said Good —you wouldn't get it anyway.”

 

And he storms out, taking his angry countenance with him while Steve swallows his regret, stinging at Tony's dismissal.

 

_ Well, that could have gone better. _

 

He is on the brink of saying to hell with this and running after Tony, but he stops at  the memory of a terrible ’click-clack’ing and empty air beneath his outstretched hand; an image superimposes of pulling the dead weight of an Iron suit from rubble and steel, mangled and lifeless.

 

_ Never again _ .

 

So he makes a promise, if at the end of all thisTony is alive and breathing, it'll be enough. Steve steps out into pine walls and soft, pooling light. He is alone. It's better this way.

 

_ ~ _

 

_ Fuck This Utter disaster of a day. And Screw Sanctimonious Steve and his damn duty and honor and scruples, all  that serum enhanced assholery. Since when do I care what Steve Rogers thinks anyway? _

 

Ludicrous.

 

_ So I get a little fluttery from time to time, that doesn't mean anything. And sometimes I  monitor Steve from my workshop...that’s just  research, I need to know where Steve is so I can resolutely NOT be there. In fact,  This is All Steve’s  fault, damn overinflated science project,...who needs all that perfection anyway, be bored in a week tops. _

  
  


Tony honestly never thought he would get very far with Steve with all that awkwardness tripping them up like a poorly laid a rug. He certainly did not figure that he'd be the one left with a raging hard on. Fuck this entire planet for cock-blocking Tony for the rest of what is most probably to be his short life. Now that's he’s thinking of it, fuck everyone who is a part of this travesty. But mostly, _mostly,_  fuck that smug-one-eyed-son-of-a-bitch, Nick Fury, for roping them into this shit show. 

 

Never can catch a fucking break _.  _

 

_ Keeps coming 'round to that, doesn't it? _

 

This is what Pepper had always tried to tell him. She isn't broken like Tony. She isn't made to live on the ragged edge of his sinkhole life, wondering whether or not he's coming home, or in how many pieces.  **_'Reckless_ ** ' she'd said. He couldn't deny it then with tears staining her cheeks, and he won't deny it now.

 

It occurs to Tony , Steve might be the only good thing he's got going. And he just blew it.

 

_ Fuck a duck. _

 

_ Now what?  _

 

They're...what the hell are they?

 

_ I'll tell you what we are, wandering in the dark hard up and not a clue what we're walking into. Pretty much a normal Thursday with a sprinkling of apocalypse. _

 

Tony decides he is in a full on tilt by the time he has stormed from the kitchen and down through the secret passage. He so mad he can't even enjoy the fact  that he's using a secret passage,  _ bastard _ .

 

Tony stalks to the workspace he abandoned in his brilliant idea to find Steve _ -wait _ .  _ No that's not true- not mine, but a certain la femme Nikita who has been thwarting me at every turn , til _ **_just_ ** _ now. And I fell for it, went off like a Steve-seeking missile.  She fucking knew this would happen. Damn Romanov. _

 

He can feel her eyes trawl over him even now, assessing, recalibrating. Just another reminder of her promise. Showing Tony how weak he really is, with a big kick me sign on his back. Didn’t work at MIT and it won't work here.

 

_ I’ll add it to the growing pile of fuck's I don't give. _

 

He veers off course slightly, and walks right up to Natasha. He doesn’t say a word, merely glares. She raises one delicate brow, and still he stands, mute. In a heartbeat Clint is stepping forward, reading the tension rolling off Tony.

 

“Hey, Tony, have a question about the link up-”

 

“Be with you In a moment, Barton”

 

Tony speaks with quiet destruction, he isn't about to take his eyes off the scheming widow in front of him. He just smolders in anger, and the impossible finally happens, Natasha concedes, dropping her chin. 

 

His surprise almost bleeds through his rage but he reins it in and turns without a backward glance.

 

He stalks to his bench, and motions Clint over, ignoring the slight shaking of his hands.

 

“What did you screw up this time, Barton.”

 

“Hey now-”

 

Clint is pushed out of the way quite brusquely, but recovers with ease. Tony shoots him a glare and Barton just smiles right into it and offers his pad.

 

“See, I need you-”

 

“Oh that’s never been in doubt, - **that** \-  yes,  put it down, thank you…”

 

He watches as Clint gently lays his starkpad on the bench as if it is sentient, only napping. Tony has it in his hands in seconds, and is already fixing the problem before Clint even has a chance to show him. 

 

“That all, Barton?”

 

Clint shifts from one foot to the other, the closest he comes to a tell, Tony narrows his eyes, just about ready to maim and feather him if words come out of his mouth that have any correlation to a certain Steve Fucking Rogers.

 

“Yup.”

 

“Great, go awa-”

 

“-where’s your coffee?”

 

_ Feathered Prick.  _

 

Tony for once doesn't take the bait _. _

 

“I thought for sure you’d come back down with a “Cap”puccino.”

 

His inner groan is epic. He clenches, then relaxes his grip before he damages the pad in his hands, and without looking up says,

 

“I have actual work to do, Barton. Begone.”

 

“I’ll just head up and get me some. Some coffee, that is, since we all know Steve is taken.”

 

Clint saunters away entirely too smug and Tony envisions blasting him, just this once.

 

He grinds his molars, and turns to find Bruce, the only Avenger he even remotely wants to see. Bruce smiles and points to his own pad. 

 

“Actual work, meet Tony.”

 

“Oh, we are old pals, kinda like the ones that see each other and say ‘let's do lunch’ and actually _ do  _ lunch-”

 

“-that was one time, Tony-.”

 

“- you are forgetting the hot pocket incident.”

 

Bruce tilts his head 

 

“Fine. Twice.”

 

“Mention Steve Rogers or any coffee innuendos and you will officially not be the favorite, Doc..”

 

Bruce clears his throat and very wisely says nothing, merely pointing to his station. Tony follows him and tries not to feel the strange heaviness of all the watching pairs of eyes offset by the very distinct lack of one. His heart clenches and he viciously tamps his feelings down like a cigarette in the winter.

 

_ They leave in the end and it's just you and a tumbler of scotch. The more you let  them in, the more they let you down. _

  
  


~

 

Steve lays out the last of the sandwiches and the few good finds from the pantry, and shifts a separate tray lined with delicate cups. The last few hours are replaying in his head. He’s trying to unearth the exact moment he lost his way when he  knocks over one of the porcelain cups. He feels the bite of shards as a slow welling of blood turns into bright spots like stains he wore once.  _ Always did have blood on my hands. _

 

Clint chooses this moment to appear, Upon seeing the blood winces and does a doubletake.

 

“Let me guess, I should see the other guy?”

 

Steve chuffs resignedly.

 

“I am the other guy.”

 

He tries to put on a smile but it looks more like a wobbly grimace.  He gestures to a hand towel and Clint tosses it over, and watches as Steve dumps bloody shards into the sink, washing it away to find the cuts are already closing.

 

_ Erksine’s gift. Or curse, it’s all about degrees, after all. _

 

“So what happened, Cap, you not make Starks espresso strong enough and he winged it at you? Cause you should have seen the way he came at Natasha a minute ago; saw a cat like that once, take on a brown bear about twenty times it’s size, and damned if he didn’t win…”

 

“Wait, Tony did what?””

 

“Well not really went after, he's not that crazy, it was more like the world’s most intense staring contest. But just like that cat, Tony, took on an apex predator and won-”

 

Steve is tallying the fallout of Tony and Natasha at odds watching it spiral out like dominos, the first ripple of the disaster he just created with Tony.

 

“ -you know I’ll send it to you, you gotta see it Steve, this damn cat....”

 

Clint pulls out his phone and chuckles to himself. Steve is suddenly suspicious. This feels like a trap. The last time Clint has told him he’d send him something an epic prank war broke out.

 

“No, do not send me anything, Clint, I'm not falling for it again, no more videos of that man singing, I told yo-

 

“Cap, it is a traditional  part of your rehabilitation into this century, come on, everyone loves a good Rick-Roll.”

 

Steve can’t help the quirk of his mouth as he recalls the culmination Steve pulled off with his secret weapon, one Pepper Potts.

 

“Well, it was rather entertaining to see Pepper get the final takedown, you know Tony had Jarvis ban it from the tower.”

 

“See, let Stark and the others introduce you to the finer points in life like triple french roast and I’ll provide you with the deep satisfaction of a prank war well won. Before you know it we’ll have a bromance to rival those two Science Nerds.”

 

Steve huffs in amusement, glad to know at least someone here still wants to be his friend. Clint turns his eyes to Steve’s face.  And he quiets. 

 

“So, what really happened here, man. I know sometimes Stark can be an ass, but-” 

 

Steve holds his hand up before Clint makes Steve feel worse .

 

“No, no it was me, this was all my doing”

 

“Cap, I find that hard to believe.”

 

He lets out a sigh and his shoulders fall a bit. He has no words for any of this.

 

“Listen, Steve, I get it. You and Tony trust each other to make the smart play, and well, love is about the dumbest play out there, so-

 

“Who said--love?”

 

Steve practically chokes on his own tongue. Now it’s Clint’s turn to laugh.

 

“‘Oh Please, where there’s smoke, there’s fire, and you two set off every goddamn alarm in the place.”

 

Steve decides to ignore that very big elephant in the room and instead grabs the trays of food.

 

“Fine, Clint, On that note I happily relinquish the role of barista to you.”

 

Clint gives Steve room to step around him and as he passes softly says,

 

“Steve, give it time.”

 

Steve hears the warm tones of friendship Clint is offering, but can’t help the bitterness that pours into his gut, Time is the one thing he doesn’t have to give.

 

He sighs and leaves Clint and his open honesty behind. God, how he misses being open; feels like he’s always closing off rooms draped in muslin, letting the dust settle where it may.

 

He thinks on days where life was hard but simple. Bedridden days he sat and reimagining all the shades of his life around him on paper. As he drew he could better understand how a degree difference could change everything. With each attempt he had begun to understand how people were like the drawings he made, the depth of angles and perception and he wanted to  _ know _ more. 

 

In the last year he has spent many an hour sketching his new life, most especially Tony, in hopes he might better see the lines and curves, map the features and find the heart lurking in the shadows. He isn’t any closer.


	11. The Noose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one gave me a bit of trouble, so I split it into two chapters. Which means that the next update won't be far behind , so yay!

Two days. He's been stumbling out in this barren waste with Steve for two goddamn days. Tony prides himself on- well, the list is too long to count, really- but he prides himself on his ability to be the last guy standing. However, he's learning even he has a limit and he's about reached it.

 

_ We’ve got nada, zip, zilch, zero, a big ole pile of nothing-oh and look, more nothing! Just ice and dirt and over there a boulder just like the last one and the one before that, the progeny of stones stretching out endlessly into the most boring boringness to ever bore. _

 

He’s already come up with two calibrations to outfit the suit, his next genius prank involving laughing gas and a chinchilla, at least six ways to streamline the security systems in the tower, oh also a fix for that pesky firewall that Fury keeps upgrading at Shield HQ, not to mention multiple weapon schematics for Clint’s latest obsession with pyrotechnics- complete with fire-retardant foam arrowheads to keep Pepper from dragging him to one more meeting about the rising cost of insurance (highway robbery if they ask him, which no one ever does), not to mention another lecture about the joys of living in buildings that  _ don't _ eventually become smoking piles of rubble and the complications of removing fluffy, charred bunny bits and of course his current super secret plan of figuring out how to do all this before they die horrible deaths.

 

He poses that it could be worse, he could be Clint or Natasha, no super serum or iron suit to keep them from frostbite. But then again, they are back at Fury’s cozy little ‘Cabin in the Woods’ while he's still out here. So who’s the lucky one in this scenario? As usual he gets stuck with the short end of the proverbial stick, of which he has come to believe is lodged firmly up Captain America’s ass. The only thing that keeps the insanity at optimal levels is taking every chance to needle Steve in said  perfect, if ancient, sculpted rear.

 

Tony is close to covering the final grid. He spent a good half hour nagging Steve into switching with him, for no reason other than his own perverse satisfaction at Steve's dwindling patience and it’s relative distance to the jet, but now he just wants to get back under a roof with his espresso machine and his shiny toys and out of this nightmare.

 

During his conscripted very-much-against-his-will grid duty he has made time to carefully consider what he will do once back in the cocoon of wood and antler-lined civilization he has been denied-as he’s pointed out in the last fifteen messages left on Fury’s personal private line. Perhaps a steaming cup of espresso or a long hot shower, or more than few hours of sleep should be at the top of his list.  But no. 

 

He has decided the very first thing he is going to do is climb directly up to Nick Fury’s gauche Liberace monstrosity of a bed and destroy it. He is going to jump on it like the world’s greatest moonbounce while drinking red wine, eating crackers and wearing muddy boots. He's going to flamenco-style his way across those million thread count sheets covering a mattress large enough to contain even the big green guy himself. Hell, he might even start a goddamn pillow fight if he wants, Barton’s always onboard for shenanigans. 

However, it ain't happening until Captain Boy Scout calls it. Time to poke the old man again.

 

“Yo!  Steve-o, howzit goin’ down there, any super-emo gods with daddy issues riding mind-controlled bears yet?”

 

“We agreed to go dark unless it’s an emergency, Tony.”

 

“It is. It's totally an emergency.”

 

“No, it isn’t.”

 

“How do you know that?”

 

“Because the last four times it wasn’t.”

 

“So I could be having an actual emergency and you’d just _ assume?  _ Steve you know that makes you an ass.”

 

He chuckles to himself when there is a heartbeat of silence after a muffled curse.

 

“Well, are you?”

 

“Am I what?”

 

“Tony  _ you _ \- are you having an emergency?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What- why didn't you- report, Stark,”

 

“I can report that you are the world’s oldest virgin and that I am going to die from complications of extreme boredom,”

 

The long silence following this statement is like syrup on pancakes;Tony eats it up. Finally Steve tersely answers.

 

“Tony, we went over this.”

 

“Did we? When was that? When we were making out in a closet? Or perhaps it was when my soul died a thousand millennia ago at grid number fourteen-whatever and ever.”

 

“I’m serious, cut the chatter. Cover your grid and meet up at the coordinates. That’s an order Stark.”

 

“Oooooooooh, well if it’s an order….” Tony mocks petulantly, before cutting the link and grinning to himself. That ought to keep his black heart warm for a bit. Tony’s cold war is going perfectly. It’s the little things during an apocalypse.

 

~

 

Steve lets the comm go dark wishing not for the first time he were a smarter man. If he were he’d never have cornered Tony Stark. And he certainly wouldn't have kissed him. But most of all if he was half as smart as most people think he’d have known that he couldn't wind a man like Tony up and let him down easy. Nothing is ever easy when Stark is involved.

 

He rolls his neck and shoulder  grimacing at the tension knotted there. He's been using the techniques the shield doctors taught him when he was first de-iced, after nights he’d woken up gasping and shaking with panic, sweating and swearing, trying to keep his own unease at bay while running from the darkness inside him. They aren’t working any longer. The endless terrain he’s covering calls to that empty place in the middle of himself and echoes the panic still shivering through his corpuscles, as though he never fully escaped.

 

If they don't find the source in the next grid Steve will call it a night or is it day? He barely remembers anymore. They’ll regroup and Bravo will be on patrol. And maybe he will finally get some respite from the constant voice in his ear. 

 

Tony’s been testing every bit of patience in him and it's sapping Steve’s reserves, leaving him in a state of perpetual exhaustion. He hasn't given an inch but it takes a toll to stand against the battering of Tony’s agitation and boredom. The sooner this is done the faster he can retreat back to his corner and rest up for the next round. No one holds a grudge match quite like Tony Stark.

 

He reaches the end of the grid.  He turns to his tracker, but there hasn't been a sign of the gamma sequence for hours. He considers how much more of Tony’s ‘death of a thousand cuts’  he is willing to endure and finds he doesn't have the stamina. 

 

“Tony, I’m calling it. Head back to the jet.”

 

“Very wise, O’ great leader!”

 

“Stow it, Stark. Just be there.”

 

“As you wish, master.”

 

Steve cuts the comm with a sigh of defeat and a growing disgust at his own inadequacy.  Bucky always did say he bruised like a peach, ‘specially for being such a hothead. He ignores a sear of heartache as words from a Brooklyn boy rattle around the haunt that is his memory. He begins the trek back at a brisk run in an attempt to keep the chill from his bones. He manages his anxiety better this time out than the last two, at least. Might even take a warm shower when he gets back instead of curling up in bed to shiver his way through cursed dreams.

 

_ *ping* _

 

He breaks from his thoughts and pauses mid-stride, silent in the dusk, listening.

 

_ *ping* _

 

He carefully pulls out the makeshift tracker attached to his belt.  He sees what looks to be a blotchy oval on the grid akin to a hazy smoke ring with him directly in the middle. He watches the circle pulse brightly and contract. The ground beneath him moves, or does it? It feels more like the moment after running, when he stops, it is a sudden lack of momentum, as though the ground is not going to hold him.

 

“Stark, report.”

 

There is no answering voice, snark or not.

 

“Tony, no more jokes, answer me”

 

“You rang?”

 

“Are you getting anything on your tracker?”

 

“No, clear as a bell here.”

 

_ *PING* _

 

The tracker shows Steve as the bullseye in an ever shrinking target. 

 

He scans the horizon seeing only the cold sentennance of stones, he  hears only the swirl of snow on treebark. His senses are telling him other than the odd cessation-like feeling there is nothing out there. And yet, the tracker contradicts this. Dread now mingles with his confusion.

 

“Tony, I think I’m being targeted...”

 

“Steve, you don't have to pretend to be in distress just  to get my attention, really have some pride.”

 

He grits his teeth and bites back a retort, focusing on the ring forming around him on the screen.

 

“What does mine look like?”

 

“Steve, you better no-”

 

Tony cuts off  mid vowel, and Steve feels the stirrings of panic deepen in his gut. The circle on the screen is almost closed now like a noose

 

“Get out, get out now.”

 

_ No time, no time. _

 

“Tony, it’s too l--”

 

“Dammit Steve, ru---”

 

**_*PING*_ **

 

Steve’s panic rises somewhere in his throat now as both comms cut out; the tracker is glowing like a coal and faces flash like a picture show in his mind.  Erskine as he breathes his last, Peggy as she races away, Bucky as he falls. The noose closes. He’s always too late.

 

~

 

“Steve! ”

 

The burst of silence from the broken comlink echoes in his head. Tony is watching the grid when the impossible happens and Steve’s signal disappears in a maelstrom of light.

 

_ Fuck, Fuck, that should be me, I nagged Steve into switching grids with me. God dammit. Of course it has to be him, every time. _

 

“Jarvis, vitals, Now-”

 

“--Sir, Captain Rogers signal has been terminated.”

 

“--J, don’t you tell me he’s--”

 

“--Last check his heart rate was elevated but well within normal limits.”

 

“So no endorphin spike, that's good, that's great.” 

 

Tony’s mind splits off into a hundred scenarios, Calculating probabilities. 

 

“Sir,  arrival in 4.32 minutes.”

 

“Make it 2, boost power, don't care how”.

 

“Arrival now 2.1 minutes.”

 

Of course, they are the longest two minutes of his life, not including that little night terror always in the wings Obie gave him years ago. His heart is racing and there’s an oil slick of fear spilling in his guts, overriding everything else. He has to get to Steve.

 

~

 

Steve is still conscious, which he finds regretful as pain blindly rolls through him. Not even the excruciating moments in the Vita-ray machine can hold a candle to this. It’s like being squeezed through a keyhole. His lungs seize as if he’s being folded and forced into a space that cannot possibly contain a human body. He’s falls backwards but never hits the ground. Snatches of places and people explode like shrapnel around him. It’s as though he is free-falling through his life.  Finally he lands and doggedly claws his way into consciousness.

He surfaces in a bed, lying shrunken and pale. One breath in and he feels the rattle of his weak lungs, his bones ache, and his chest feels like it might crack on the next cough.

 

_ This can't be happening! How am I back in this cage?!  _

 

An image of a noose flashes like a lightening strike.

 

His body begins to shudder and spasm in an agony of betrayal. He clutches a well worn, scratchy blanket and falls limply into the lumpy pillow barely propping him up. He lies in shock, shaking in a fevered haze, too exhausted to keep his eyelids open.

 

A slight brushing of his hair back and fingers against his forehead make him start. Strong arms gently push him forward and the slide of cool skin against his fevered body has him sinking back down into the embrace now holding him up better than any pillow could.

 

“Dammit, Stevie, you’re burning hot as a coalfire”

 

_ Stevie? _

 

He pries his eyes open in confusion and looks down at the calloused fingers now entwined in his, and that same voice cuts through the fuzziness, the soft tones landing delicately in his ear.  _ Oh, God. _ He wants to break apart, or cry, or die or maybe all three as his vision goes blurry. It’s him. The voice that haunts him, that pulls at him.

  
  


“Breath with me, pal, come on, just like always…”

 

Steve automatically obeys, his body remembering better than his reeling mind. He tries to breathe in and out like he learned years ago, when he feared he would never take an easy breath again, when the coughs wracked him and he’d think’ maybe this will be the last time’.

 

_ I’m not really here. It can’t be...not him. _

 

A fresh anguish blooms inside him at the ache of the familiar heartbeat thrumming along next to his own struggling one. The sting of bitterness pools and plays so cruelly against the sweetness of being this close again, and he feels himself slipping deeper, his feverish brain stuttering on it, as Steve breathes an age old rhythm.

 

“There ya go, I gotcha,” Bucky says with a steady calm.

 

Steve angles his head back  to catch that face with it’s fierce beauty shining in the darkness. A sinful burst of love, laced with desire, drenches his insides filling his hollow chest. He doesn't want to hold it in anymore, even if he could. The pain, that up ‘til now has been a constant companion, is blessedly mute. DejaVu hits Steve like a train. This has all happened before. He finds himself repeating words he’d uttered almost eighty years ago in wretched, lovestruck shivers.

 

“You always do, Buck.”

 

Finally he looks down, his gaze snagging on the desperation in Steve’s. _ Oh those eyes _ , reflecting back every dangerous emotion Steve feels in his molten body. The moment hangs between them precious as glass. He begins to quake with a dark need to hear Bucky say the words and admit to this longing that stretches between them. Somehow he already knows what’s about to transpire as Bucky purses his lips tightly and swallows before eventually replying stiffly,

 

“Listen, punk, you think I'm the kinda guy who’ll take advantage of his best pal while he’s laid up with a fever? ‘Cause if so, after y’heal up I’m gonna knock that block off, so cut it out.”

 

“I love you.”

 

It rushes out before he knows that he’s spoken, and the body that’s been sheltering him goes rigid, and their hands spring apart like Steve has burned him.

 

“Steve, you don’t know what you’re sayin’, you’re sick-”

 

“Love isn’t a sickness.”

 

Bucky huffs like he’s laughing, like Steve is just making a joke.

 

“Oh yeah, and what d’y’even know ‘bout it, huh?”

 

“I know you think it’s a weakness, that you think _ I’m _ weaker for it, but I'm not,”

 

“Just be quiet now and go to sleep,” he says on a resigned sigh, and Steve feels the puff of air on his skin as he is shaking in anger now at being brushed aside. 

 

“ _ You’re _ the weak one,” he harshly whispers.

 

“Rogers, you say one more word…”

 

“I ain’t one of your loose dames, Buck, can’t boss me around.”

 

“You sure talk as much as one.”

 

A bruised silence settles between them. Steve gives Bucky an irritated, lusty kind of scowl.  His head is spinning being so close but he can still feel the resistance from this spectre of a man he adores above all others.

 

After what feels like an eternity between one breath and the next Bucky gives in, letting something real spill from his careful countenance. His eyes soften as he cradles his arms around Steve once more, and there’s a slow whiskey burn to his his voice as he pleads with him, leaning in whisper-close,

 

“What’re ya tryna do to me, Stevie?”

 

Steve gives the only answer he knows and drags his chapped lips across Bucky’s soft ones, pressing in and the world inverts, and rewrites itself. All their rough edges that usually spark off each other are slotting into place. He isn't burning anymore,  _ oh, oh, _  he is  _ exploding _ . The love in him bursts like fireflies in the summer dark and Steve somehow feels like he’s expanding to fit the universe.

 

He awkwardly curls his hand into the short hairs at Bucky’s nape pulling as a sharp buzz builds in his blood and his fever ratchets higher.  He ruthlessly brands himself upon lips he has been dreaming of, that smirking pout. He thinks he finally understands how butter feels on a biscuit as he melts into Bucky.  A whimper slides across the room, landing in the corner, echoing back to his ears, so desperate it hurts to hear. He doesn't know which of them it came from until Bucky rips their mouths apart and gasps. 

 

“Y-you...I can’t.”

 

Steve sucks in a ragged breath as the rejection ripples through him.

 

“You mean won’t, ” he angrily spits out.

 

“Doesn’t matter.”

 

Steve hears the steel clanging in Bucky’s tone and his heart goes out like a smothered flame, smoking and smoldering.

 

“You don’t...?”, he cannot even finish the question. 

 

Bucky remains silent. In the back of Steve’s mind this is familiar somehow, the wrenching hurt sizzling through him.

 

“Always hiding, a coward is what you are.”

 

A hurt sound bleeds into the space between them now.

 

“Fuck you, Rogers.” 

 

Steve weakly pushes himself off the pale expanse of skin under him, anger scorching his next words.

 

“You First, _ pal _ . Do us both a favor: find the door and use it...you were always gonna leave anyway, only ’matter of time, running offta die ‘thousan’ miles away, while I’m stuck dyin’ in this bed...” 

 

These are words he’d always meant to take to his early grave yet here he is spilling his deepest fear, poisoning the last good thing he has left.  The depth of his misery leaves him hollow as bird bones, a burnt-out shell.

 

And somewhere the memory of this moment surfaces, superimposing over this confession he can’t stop, no matter how hard he tries. He knows what he will see when he glares into those storm-cloaked eyes.

 

There is it.That brutal look of betrayal, as if he has run Bucky through with a blade. Steve knows this look too damn well.  He wishes he could erase it from existence, wants to scream himself awake. His guts clench and he  _ knows _ this is all another lifetime, he isn’t this young brash boy anymore, he wants to take it all back but he can only burn and ride out the moment to it’s  inevitable ending.  Bucky growls out an anger-laced parry even as he lies bleeding from Steve’s accusation. 

 

“I’m gonna say this one time, and only one time. If you think I’m gonna play the big hero and tell you that love’s gonna fix all the things wrong in this world, I ain't. ‘Cause it don’t. Nothin’ in this life’s fair. If it was then  **_I_ ** would be the one dyin’ in that bed and  _ you’d  _ be the one marching offta make the world a better place. Don’tcha know I'd trade spots with you if I could? Heck, every day and twice on Sunday, Steve...if I could, but...I can’t.”

 

Bucky’s voice breaks on the admission in a way Steve’s never heard before and yet knows intimately in nightmares. Bucky grinds his jaw, biting off a choked sob. Steve can only shake and burn at the emotion dammed behind the lips that had been pressed to his only moments ago.

 

Bucky’s hands are digging into him as he lashes out with a broken whisper of his own, 

 

“Life don’t work that way...so stop asking me for more than I can give.“

 

Steve’s heart gives one last pathetic lurch at the razor sting of the words as darkness phases out his vision. He slips closer to oblivion as the fever ravages the last rational thought he can hold onto. He manages to utter it before falling headlong into the blackness,

 

“...you promised… to the end of the line.”

 

The room and the bed disappear and the arms around him slip away, eaten away by the fire bleaching his very bones and he is lost to himself. 

  
  



	12. The Drop and the Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team rallies to save Steve.

Tony lands roughly, already running toward the body lying prone on the ground before staggering to a halt. He tries to make sense of what he’s seeing. In the low light he can make out Steve’s winter gear laid out in the crude beginnings of a circle; his jacket, armor, undershirts strewn about, gloves. And there in the middle,  laid out like some sacrifice is Steve. His upper torso is exposed and he is shivering so hard  he can hear teeth chattering. They are alone in the cold night.

 

Tony breaks himself out of his stupor and rushes to Steve’s side, filing this away under “WTF!?”, to be obsessed over later. He lifts his faceplate and removes one of his gauntlets before leaning in to touch Steve’s forehead while also watching for any sign of the attacker.

 

“Cap, hey, are you hurt? What happened?”

 

Steve moans incoherently while thrashing under his palm.

 

Tony keeps his head on a swivel but sees only the stones and silence that have driven him mad for days. He covers his inner panic with a false bravado that always seems to get him through moments like these, no matter what Natasha says to the contrary  _. _

 

”Hey Super Soldier, wake up! What the hell, Rogers, did you lose at strip poker and decide to make a crop circle with your clothes? What are you doing half-naked in the snow?”

 

Steve struggles to sit up, reaching out when his eyes spear Tony, who flinches at the feverish glare in them. Something is off.  The normally clear blue seems cloudy and it’s like Steve is looking through him. A soft voice rasps out into the air that hardly even sounds like the man he knows, “...promised….the end of th’line.”

 

_ Fuck! Steve is whacked out of his head. _

 

“Steve...It’s Tony,” 

 

He’s beginning to theorize maybe they are 23% more fucked than he first thought since Steve clearly has no idea who Tony is, let alone can explain who or what is in all likelihood still lurking in the nearby dark. He’s once again proven right when Steve’s eyes roll back in his head and he drops like an anvil. Tony just barely keeps his head from banging off the frozen tundra. 

 

“J, what’s wrong with him.”

 

“Sir, the Captain’s breathing and thermals are lower than recommended levels.”

 

Tony scans for any kind of surveillance and finding none only angers him. He needs to know exactly which asshole took out his damn Hercules. He keeps up a verbal litany of bullshit to distract himself from calculating what it takes to knock out Steve Rogers.

 

“Fine. Looks like the goddamn apocalypse will have to wait. Priority numero uno is getting you somewhere warm, and preferably into some clothes. Bet you never thought you’d hear me say that...of course you’d leave me to do the cleanup and drag your frozen, half-naked ass back to the jet...no chance I'll get to destroy that bed now, guess I’ll add  that to the growing pile of suck that is my life.”

 

Tony lifts the inert body of one very large Captain and bridal carries him as carefully as he can. He's never seen Steve so vulnerable. He’s gonna have to fly him out of here. 

 

“J, Get Nat now.”

 

A clipped but calm voice says “Stark, report.”

 

“We’re coming in fast, Steve’s down-unconscious, his data is fried, can’t read how bad his insides got scrambled. Be there in fifteen.”

 

“Got it, we’ll be ready, number of hostiles? We aren’t getting any readings here.”

 

“I don’t see any, haven’t got a clue what got to our boy. But I will.”

 

The steely promise in his voice is the only modicum of control he has over this shitstorm. He is going to save Steve. Then he is going to use his considerable brain power to unearth who did this and kick whoever’s ass needs kicking. But first, the saving.

 

“See you soon, Stark.”

 

Tony lets the line die. He is suffused with equal parts envy and annoyance at Natasha’s ability to remain cool under pressure. He likes to think he holds up in comparison but the way his heart is hammering tells him he's deeply entrenched in denial. Steve’s condition hasn't changed and Tony doesn't know what that means but he knows it isn't good. Steve’s usually already up and arguing with Tony by now about whatever he did wrong. Minutes pass until finally the quinjet comes into sight. His fear downgrades from ‘Holy Fuck’ to ‘Shitballs’.

 

He has a clear set of parameters: get Steve into the jet and get the hell out of dodge. Turns out getting him in isn’t the problem, it’s when he ejects himself from the suit that things get complicated. 

 

He struggles to get his arms under Steve and almost crushes himself under all that super soldier muscle. Stupid, he should have kept the suit on until after he got Steve buckled in. Tony makes a mental note to step up his time in the gym as he drags Steve’s cold, unresponsive body to the co-pilot’s chair, ‘cause this is just embarrassing.  He strong arms him into the seat, now sweating from the exertion. He checks Steve’s pulse and worry digs it’s claws deeper. Steve’s vitals are always steady as a metronome, in fact annoyingly so, but the pulse under his fingers is erratic and thready. This seems impossible yet here they are.

 

Tony grabs the straps for the harness and wrestles them around the limbs ragdolled at Steve’s side.  He knows he should cover Steve with something to raise his core temperature but he makes the decision instead to start the jet, skipping several safety checks along the way which sets all the alarms blaring at him and matching the panic he’s keeping tightly contained in the part of his brain he sets aside for this kind of thing. He hisses in annoyance before pushing a series of buttons shutting them off and quickly puts the ‘pedal to the metal’ and hurtles them towards help and the rest of the team. 

 

He spares a few glances hoping to see a change in the eerily silent Captain. He thinks maybe Steve looks a little less blue-lipped, and Tony’s chest twinges with some unnamed emotion adjacent to hope. It's not often that things get better instead of worse, but he lets himself slide closer to the feeling. Things might be looking up. 

 

~

_ Cold...so cold. Must’ve left the window open again. Bucky’s gonna be sore as a bear when he wakes up, after all the trouble last time, the medicine about wiped us out for the month. He’s had to ask for an extra shift twice this week to make up for it.   _

 

Steve tries to roll over and find the warm spot he knows is waiting for him. Bucky always fills the water bottle and leaves it under the pillow.  Steve’s secret ritual of shoving his face into the lumpy pillow and breathing in Bucky is the best part of his day. But he can’t move, he’s stuck in the bedsheet.  He furrows his brow and scrunches his face in lines of denial, it can’t already be morning. The cold is relentless, gotta close that dang window or he’ll never hear the end of it.

 

Suddenly alarms are blaring.

 

Steve opens his eyes. A blue glow shines off a dashboard. A memory waits, coiled to strike at him but he runs from it. No, no, no, no...this isn’t real. He slams them shut, but it follows him, snaking through his brain, fangs sinking deep into his consciousness.  He’s in a plane, strapped and  falling, falling...under ice...this all just a part of the slow, protracted hell of dying...but  _ he's _ not here...the man with the burning smile. The memory stumbles and crashes into him sending his heart lurching. His entire body is burning and breaking, his chest’s a mass of pain, and those arms...not here...or there. Just gone. He’s gone and buried in the snow.  And Steve is screaming. Screaming, and burning in silence.

He tries open his eyes again but this time his body doesn’t respond. He’s frozen. Panic floods him and the tether to his sanity is slipping again, slithering away. He is left in the dark, chasing his own mind like a kite string in a windstorm, still shrieking and flailing and scrambling after it in bloody tatters.  

“Don’t worry, Cap,” a voice says into the too-quiet cabin, “I gotcha.”

That voice, it should be bright and flashy, but it’s quiet, determined, and bruised with fear,  purpling and dark. His mind grabs onto it like a gold thread. He pulls himself from the edge of a terrible nothingness,  a yawning abyss waiting to eat him from the inside. Turning the words over like a key, he knows they mean something but it’s as if they are coming from far away.

 

Steve at last pries his eyes open.  He’s blinks down at a large body, sickly pale, cinched in with leather straps. Is this his? He can’t feel anything.

 

“You know, this whole sleeping beauty, damsel in distress trope is overrated if you ask me. Not that you wouldn’t make one hell of a Disney princess, I mean the marketing rights alone with a face like yours…”

 

A splinter of recognition digs past his numbness, a sharp pain to focus him, an anchor in the chilling blackness. He knows him. The man talking to him. No sooner does he think that then the pain comes roaring back, scorching and burning in it’s path as it pulses through limbs he can feel now, and shards of ice drive like nails into his brain. 

 

A wailing, cringing, cowering part of him wants to run away from it again, to throw himself back into the hole he only just clawed himself out of.  But he makes himself look, he makes himself see.  __ His heart rips open, ragged and his soul is bared to the bitterness now gnawing its way through him like acid. And in despair he knows this isn’t  _ him. _ And as he sits there bleeding out, for the second time in his life he wishes for it all to be over.

 

Steve is back. And Bucky is dead.

 

~

 

Tony has been filling the cockpit with the sound of his own voice in a poor attempt to distract himself from the very obvious fact that the Steve is still out like his brain got fried with an EMP. But on a closer glance he can see Steve’s eyes are open, staring at his hands but not moving, arms still slack. He looks like a marionette with its strings cut.

 

“Hey, tall, pale and gorgeous, You with me?”

 

Those blue eyes flick over to him. Steve is alive and breathing in front of him but something is wrong. It takes a few seconds for it to click but once it does Tony chokes on a curse, barbed and stuck in his throat as a deep slice of horror slashes through him. They are the eyes of a dead man.

 

Tony flips on the autopilot and inches closer to the edge of his seat. He's not sure what compels him to slowly reach out his hand and smooth his fingers through that blonde hair- _ just checking for head wounds, that’s all, it’s totally acceptable to assess Steve’s condition. _ This is all edging into territory Tony is not very good at, in fact, he's been told his bedside manner is abysmal.

 

Steve jumps at the touch but seeing some kind of reaction from Steve, even revulsion, is better than nothing.  Steve loudly sucks in a shaky breath as Tony keeps up with a steady kind of petting, treating him like a skittish animal and it must be the right call because Steve lets him. And that's good because this is about the extent of Tony’s knowledge on how to calm a spooked super soldier that doesn't involve a lot less clothing, not that Steve isn't halfway there already. Tony almost forgets why he’s doing this, distracted by the softness of his hair and his own churning anger at the haunted face looking back at him. Tony finally decides to try speaking to him again, his own voice seems rough when he asks,

 

“You still with me?” 

 

Steve seems to recognize him, which is a small miracle in itself and Tony’s heart and lower anatomy unclench just a tad. A stone he didn’t even realize had taken up residence in his chest dislodges only to land in his gut when Steve just mutely stares back at him. 

  
  


Then he watches in absolute shock as a tear spills and rolls down Steve’s perfect  face. Tony quails at a helplessness he can feel rushing through him, his anger is now at inferno levels. He pulls his hand back, fisting it, wanting to do violence to whoever has clearly crushed the spirit out of Steve and left this empty shell in his place.

 

“Cap, tell me what’s wrong…”

 

Another minute of hellish silence passes like nails on a chalkboard before Tony’s own impatience and fear have him pushing out a harsh, 

 

“Steve, what the fuck is going on, talk to me me?!”

 

A glimmer of something passes behind those eyes, Tony sees it, and then it’s as if he watches Steve pouring back into himself, the life returns, although muted now,  the blue of his eyes are dull and his body is sagging and curling into itself. Finally, the worry that has been kicking him like a  toddler in an airplane seat lessens and Tony tries for the third time to get Steve to break his silence.

 

“Steve, what’s the last thing you remember?”

  
  


Steve sags a little lower, his elbows sinking to his knees while the harness digs nasty red welts into his skin, but he doesn't seem to even notice. When he does finally attempt to speak his voice knifes into the cabin like a stranger’s, hollow and murky as though he is merely talking to himself or the floor, barely aware Tony has asked the question.

 

“... the tracker...” 

 

Tony remembers the tracker as well, that bright sunburst and then nothing. His heart squeezes painfully and the adrenaline has him so hyper-focused he hears the small hitch in Steve’s breathing when he suddenly leans forward rocking against the harness and grips punishingly at his hair with his head in his hands. Tony can't see his face anymore.

 

“And pain--”  his voice cracks oddly as he tries to swallow past what must be a particularly bad memory and Tony’s fingers curl in sympathy. He has been there. His own of waking up hooked up to a battery surfaces and he pushes it back where it belongs in that same panicky part of himself where he keeps all his favorite nightmares. He reaches out once more, prying Steve’s hands from his head and takes up the stroking again, until Steve settles down after a few seconds of harsh panting.

 

“Then I’m in a bed, burning with a fever. And it's 1941.”

 

Tony’s hand freezes mid-stroke.  _ Okaaay, so not where I thought this was going.  _

 

“You dreamed you were back in-”

 

Steve interrupts belligerently, “NO-not a dream _. _ ”, lifting his head pinning him with red-rimmed eyes, with a panicky glint edging in.

 

Tony drops his hand and lets that piece of information flop between them like a dead fish, surprised at Steve’s combative tone, as though he's already spoiling for a fight.

 

_ He must know how crazy he sounds...that's good, right? ‘Cause it's the real Crazies who don't know they’re cuckoo for CoCoPuffs. Must have been one hell of a roofie, ah fuck, maybe he's got a concussion or a brain tumor--get ahold of yourself Stark, it’s not a tumor, he's a goddamn specimen of perfection, remember all of Howard’s drunken love poems about Steve’s  regeneration rates?  _

 

“You’re telling me that you went all Marty Mcfly in an invisible Delorean and woke up in some fever dream from 1940…”

 

Tony watches as Steve shrinks further into himself and he decides to backtrack and try a different tack, just in case he’s wrong (which he never is) and Steve is actually nutso.

 

“Look, Steve…it's just as likely that you got your bell rung and your mind anchored itself to a memory, a type of construct, it’s not unusual with head injuries.”

 

Steve jerks his head back, chasing away Tony when he tries for another assessment and glares icily

 

“I didn’t construct this.”

 

Tony flinches at the edge of frost coming off the angry man before him. He doesn't argue any further, seeing some of Steve’s fight surfacing is enough for now, but he can’t help saying,

 

“Hmm, well until we get back and have that giant melon checked out, put a pin in it, okay? One crisis at a time.”

 

Steve juts his chin to argue the point but the controls beep alerting them to their imminent arrival. Tony resignedly turns back to the dash and sets the jet down with far more expertise than he took off with. He spies Natasha and Clint running across the open field towards them and is actually glad to see them. He doesn't quite know what to make of all this and as  thrown as he feels he knows Steve is a thousand times worse. 

 

Before the ramp is lowered Steve shoots one last haunted look his way. Tony isn’t sure what to say and doesn’t have time even if he did.  Uneasiness swims through his stomach. Should be nice company for the heavy stone of worry already rolling around down there. 

 

Natasha and Clint race on board, ready to face whatever nightmare awaits them. The lines of worry on their faces smooth when they see Steve is conscious and relatively uninjured. Natasha actually smiles and Tony sits stupefied for a second at the change it wrings over her face. Barton breaks the tension still hanging in the air, as usual.

 

“Hey Cap, heard you were caught sleeping on the job.”

 

And then another change is wrought almost like a miracle.  Tony watches as Steve’s  back straightens and the devastation that has been slowly dissolving this man in front of him is pushed into some place deep inside. He puts on a light-hearted mask on that only Tony seems to see through and calmly says,

 

“Yeah, I drew the short stick this time...let's get this over with. Who won the bet?”

 

Natasha slants a furtive look at Tony and Clint shifts to his back foot- _ a tell for sure _ ,  _ knew it _ -as though he is ready to pivot out of range. Steve looks between the two and says,

 

“What you guys thought I didn’t know? I find your lack of faith disturbing.”

 

Of all the strange things Tony has seen and heard so far since this clusterfuck of a day began this is the one that takes the cake.

 

_ Did Steve just make an appropriate reference? _

 

Clint grins and holds up a fist. Steve smiles and offers a return bump and Tony sees the tremor run through that tree branch of an arm. He decides he’s had about enough of this farce and refuses to indulge another minute of it.  _ Can’t they see Steve is barely hanging on, he needs to be taken somewhere that isn’t zero fucking degrees?! And they have the nerve to call themselves spies, this is going in Fury’s next message.. _

 

“Alright, enough, let’s take this luau inside and find out if Cap still has enough brain cells left in that thick skull of his to help us, and by us I mean _ me _ , figure out what we’re up against.“

 

Clint leans down and puts his arms around Steve as Natasha unstraps him from the safety harness.

 

“Jesus, Steve! Guess we really can call you Capsicle now, your skin is like ice! What, did you decide to try and scare ‘em off by showing off your six pack?” he teases as he lifts him up and gets Steve on his feet and steady. 

 

“Of course  _ you  _ would think a striptease is a useful combat technique, Barton.” Natasha says with an eye-roll.

 

“Oh I'm sure I'm not the only one” he replies cheekily looking right at Tony and winking suggestively and Tony feels the need to remind himself that punching Barton will only make this take longer. 

 

Natasha is discreetly taking Steve’s pulse and positioning herself under his left shoulder as Clint steps up under his right.  Her delicate lips make a tiny moue of concern and she shakes her head at Tony and it's clear that Steve’s condition is worse than he thought. He shoos them towards the ramp with exaggerated motions and they all begin the awkward process of getting Steve off the jet.

 

The super spy twins insist on helping Steve down the ramp and across the rocky terrain. And either because Steve knows his team well or he’s much more shaken up than he’s letting on, he lets them. Tony’s intuition is telling him it’s the latter. 

 

This would go much faster is they’d let him do it and he considers getting in the suit and carrying Steve himself, but refrains, but only just.. Steve is clearly leaning into their strength, their warmth. He always did say the fastest way to build an emotional link is through physical touch. 

 

See? Tony does pay attention in team meetings, all evidence to the contrary. He reminds himself that this is team dynamics, and that it’s irrational to feel left out.  _ He’s _ the one who saved Steve after all. Of course, part of him also thinks if he hadn't been such a sadistic ass earlier, it might be his barely conscious body being dragged off.

 

He powers down the jet and finally steps back into the suit and the world makes sense for the first time since the damn commlink broke--and how the hell did that happen anyway? His tech is good, no, better than good, it's phenomenal. So what gives?

 

As he trails the lopsided trio ahead he mulls over the possibility that Steve is telling the truth. Maybe he didn’t ‘inception’ himself. Could he have traveled back somehow? His body’s been through something, that’s clear.  What isn't clear is if he was still in it at the time…yeah that part’s about as clear as a black hole. 

 

Perhaps Steve’s suffering symptoms from the gamma rays mixing with his super serum steroids or maybe… _ wait, black holes _ ….aw, hell….he hopes he isn’t right, but he’s always right, gods, he hates being right _ -(ha! Good one Stark) _ ...what if there is a rift or a wormhole like the one over New York?

 

Tony shudders.  _ And there’s our favorite spike of fear when the Chitauri dickbags come up, right on cue.... _ but a hole in the universe like that, it would require a massive amount of energy and generating that kind of power would create a trail the size of the Milky Way--or maybe even a gamma pattern that could shake apart a planet.

 

_ Fuck, this isn't good news.This certainly complicates things. They might be going about this all wrong. _

 

Clint and Nat make it to the cabin with Steve and Tony picks up the pace when he realizes he has stopped walking altogether. By the time he is inside they are already making their way down the passage to the lab.

 

He can hear the murmur of voices as Bruce greets them and once again he feels out of step. When he turns the corner he sees that they have gotten Steve onto an infirmary biobed tucked into the corner. He watches Bruce lean over Steve’s monitor and take down his vitals as he begins to treat him. 

 

Steve is in good hands and Tony isn’t helping anyone by standing around with his proverbial dick in his, so he retreats to his own area. He keeps part of his attention turned to Steve anyway, the haunted, broken image still stuck in his head of Steve crumbling away.

 

He steps out of the suit and stretches the soreness from his muscles. Now that the adrenaline rush is over he can feel a few aches and pains he must have gotten in those embarrassing moments he spent trying to get Steve into the co-pilot seat. A strung-out kind of weariness is creeping in and Tony decides to move on to the next issue at hand before it becomes a full blown crash. Right, the fried comms. He suddenly curses himself for not retrieving the rest of Steve’s gear.

 

He’ll have to go back anyway to do a deeper survey of the site of, what the hell are they even going to call it, the abduction? 

 

He needs the data from the biochip that comes standard in all their uniforms. Hopefully it didn’t go kaboom with the commlinks. It could be the key to telling them  _ when  _ everything went to hell in a handbasket...or Brooklyn, if Steve didn't hallucinate the entire thing.

 

He’s running a full diagnostic analysis of the tracker data and his hands are deep into the wires of the comms when he hears Steve whimper. He untangles himself and starts forward before he’s even aware he’s moving. He knows a panic attack starting when he hears one. Pepper’s helped him through more than his fair share since Obie.

 

He rounds the bench and can now see how hard Steve is struggling to breathe while tortured whines  emerge from deep in his throat. It makes Tony’s skin crawl. Bruce looks like he’s afraid to get too close and gives Tony a ‘we’re fine, back off’’ head shake but Tony ignores it.  It is quite clearly  _ not  _ fine. Steve seems to be getting worse not better.

 

Natasha is standing rigidly behind Bruce, her clenched fists and furrowed brow the only signs of her agitation as they all watch Steve crumple before their eyes. Clint is taking it all in from his perch on a nearby table, eyes darting between Steve and Natasha like he can’t decide who to comfort first. 

 

Tony makes the decision for him. In a surprising act he’s sure he’ll blame on some stray emotion in the wake of Steve’s very ‘close encounter of the wtf kind’ later,  he brushes past Natasha, side-steps Bruce and strolls up to the bed and the mountain of super soldier now slumped in a miserable heap. Clint and Natasha fade into the background. Bruce backs away and dims the overhead light and Tony simply steps into Steve’s bubble as if he’s done this a thousand times.

 

He slips his hand around rubbing in little circles in the small of Steve’s back which is covered with one of those shiny space blankets. An odd crinkling accompanies his gentle movements countered by shallow pants coming from Steve and it's obvious he can't control it. He’s shivering hard as the needed warmth seeps back into his muscles. Tony cradles Steve’s left hand, bringing it up to just below the arc reactor, pressing it against his own chest and softly begins speaking,

 

“Steve...can you feel this, feel me breathing? Just try it with me now. In...out....Just like that, in and out, yeah, that’s it. You’ve got this. Keep going….in….out…it won’t last forever, you are already doing so much better. ” 

 

Tony feels the clammy fingers beneath his own spasm, clutching at the soft material of his shirt as Steve tries to match the rhythm of Tony’s own breaths. He can tell Steve’s trying to rally but the death grip he has on Tony’s shirt is making the cloth dig rather uncomfortably at his neck. He eases the pressure by stepping further into the space between them which puts him mere inches away now. He’s so close he can see the pink returning to Steve’s skin and the long lashes fluttering against his cheeks. Tony is glad to note the tremors are lessening and those horrible whines are no longer being forced out of him. 

 

He takes the hand he put on the small of Steve’s back and runs it gently up over his shoulder and back down the length of Steve’s right arm to feel for the pulse point at  his wrist. He knows Steve’s vitals are on the monitor facing him but he needs to feel it for himself, to know that he’s really calming down.

 

There’s the rush of something akin to acute relief when he feels the strong beat. Steve opens his eyes and looks straight into Tony’s. They are clear now, not cloudy with fever but Tony can still see the remnants of fear and a silent sort of question in them. Steve loosens the hold on his shirt but before he can let go entirely Tony impulsively takes both of Steve's hands and wraps them around his waist, offering his own body as a security blanket. 

 

A strange feeling of protectiveness takes up residence next to the arc reactor. It feels like he is right where he needs to be. It isn’t exactly unpleasant and Tony finds himself a bit off kilter, filled with a certain wonder that this seems so natural as he wraps his own arms around Steve’s impossible shoulders.

 

The aftereffects of the cold still show in the spasming of random muscles in Steve’s back and Tony chases them away with sure hands. He can feel the heaviness of Steve’s serum-enhanced body pushing him into the floor, grounding them both here in this startlingly intimate hug. 

 

A trickle of uncertainty runs through him as he ponders how in the world he ended up back in Steve’s arms.  What in his right mind made him think this was a good idea?

 

This is not something Tony does, these are the variables he never gets right. Things like vulnerability and closeness are for other people. The probability that this will come crashing down around them is high. But no one is more shocked than Tony himself when he only sighs and leans right back into Steve, letting the moment continue. He’d only meant to offer a little comfort, from one PTSD survivor to another, but this is something infinitely deeper. Maybe he should have run when he had the chance but this time he stays. He is so screwed.

  
  


~

  
  


Steve pushes into the pulse in Tony’s neck, letting all the specific notes that make up Tony hit his nose; the tang of metal and oil, natural sweat, and a hint of verbena from the outrageously expensive aftershave Tony wears that always brings to mind the herbs on a shelf his mother used to tend to in their tiny kitchen. It smells like home. He feels his breaths slow and the vice finally slip from his lungs. Tony is pressing right back and he thinks that has to count for something.

 

_ I’m not dreaming, am I? _

 

He feels other arms around him, holding him as he burns into the night, an echo of another world slipping over this one, the barriers sliding along each other like cracked eggs in a bowl. Steve closes his eyes and the sensation slithers and settles. He squeezes tight, wrapping around Tony like a python. He forgets he is in his serum body and not his wheezing shell and becomes aware he is crushing Tony when ironically,  he becomes the one struggling for air. He loosens his hold, instantly chagrined as Tony clears his throat in an attempt to downplay the ease with which Steve almost suffocated him.

 

“Sorry, sorry…” he murmurs in deep embarrassment at his loss of control and tries to disengage from Tony’s surprising warmth.

 

“Shh, ‘sfine, Cap. No damage done,”  and lifts a hand, running long fingers through Steve’s hair like before and somehow that relaxes him completely into the soft shushing and the clever hands holding him together. 

 

“Tony, I’m still here, right? His voice sounds small to his own ears and he swallows thickly.

 

“Yes, Steve. We are in Fury’s secret lair, and you may have gone somewhere, but you are here with me now.”

 

“How do I know I’m not still stuck...out there…what if it _ is _ a construct  _ , this,  _ here with you? You, you said...”

 

He whispers it as if speaking too loudly will make it true and fear flutters under his ribs again.

 

“Steve, I said it was _ probably _ a memory. Do you feel like this has happened before? Any sense of deja vu?”

 

“No, not now. But before...how can I know for sure, Tony?”  

Tony lets the question lie unanswered and the quiet descends once more. Steve closes his eyes and resumes his attempts to breathe evenly. 

 

Time passes and they are finally breathing in tandem. Steve doesn't realize it but he’s been nuzzling at Tony’s jaw with slow slides of skin, floating somewhere in a warm haze. When he does become aware of the pleasant tickle of beard hairs he starts to pull back, at least he means to, but somewhere between one second and the next their mouths slant against each other and they slip into a kiss. 

 

Steve sinks into it, needing something true to cling to.  He feels a contentment unfurling in him. It’s new. Definitely not a memory. He was so sure he’d never feel Tony like this again. His thighs clench at the thought, capturing Tony up as though he still needs the proof he’s real. Tony emits a low hum that darkens into desire and Steve tightens his fingers pulling him closer.

 

On the heels of this come all the reasons why they aren't supposed to be doing this, flooding in like a torrent of cold water, dousing him and bringing him fully home. He’s not meant to have this. His resolve is thin as tissue paper and he can't trust himself to stop any other way so he abruptly pushes Tony free of his body, suddenly certain he is back to reality as the shameful ache of wanting what he shouldn’t fills him. 

 

“I’m guessing from the way you are playing Pollyanna again that you have all your wits about you.” 

 

Steve doesn’t miss the cut of betrayal in his voice, the layers of hurt. He hates that he keeps doing this, hates that he is so weak. Why can’t he ever learn? Tony sighs and takes two steps back, crossing his arms and looking a bit lost himself. Don’t they make a pair? 

 

Tony is the one who finally gets them back to the business at hand and Steve’s glad at least one of them is thinking straight. Tony clears his throat pointedly and then asks Steve the prurient question.

 

“So, what the hell happened out there?”

 

Steve straightens his spine and faces him head on.

 

“Tony, something took me, or sent me, I, I don’t know why or how, but I couldn’t change anything or stop anything...only follow it like a script. And yet it felt like it was the first time. I was inside myself, experiencing all of the original emotions, and reliving it at the same time...they overlapped...God, that doesn't even make sense.”

 

“Steve, was anyone else there? 

 

“Does it matter? I just know I wasn't  _ here _ ,  or to be more precise I knew it wasn’t  _ now _ .”

 

“But how, how did you know? Data, I need more information, variables, anything Steve.” 

 

“Tony, I just don’t know, maybe after I get my head around this I can give you more but for now, focus on the tracker and my suit. If anyone can find a way to explain this it’s you…”  

  
  


He knows how evasive he sounds but Steve’s ill-fated confession to Bucky is not something he ever wants to talk about.  Especially with Tony.  All the feelings he’s excavated from the past are swirling and slipping against the ones still humming through him from the intimacy they just shared. He licks his lips and tastes Tony. It’s all too much. 

 

“Steve…”

 

He manages to dart a look at Tony who’s eying him suspiciously.  Fate gives Steve a tiny break when Tony huffs and unclasps his arms in a baffled gesture.

 

“Fine, I’ll see what the data says and we’ll revisit this…” and walks off muttering to himself about sticks and losing at poker and leaves Steve to his own devices.

 

Anything that gives him distance from the still urgent need to grab at Tony seems like it’s for the best even if Steve knows that he’s just torn another plank from the bridge they’ve been building between them.  

 

Bruce clears his throat and steps into the space Tony left. He gives Steve a few moments to try and pull himself together. He takes his glasses off and cleans them before taking another look at the readouts from the bed and offers that familiar half-smile before giving him the report.

 

“Well, you seem to be stable, Steve. No physical sign of any trauma, other than the fact you are running a degree or two colder than I’d like. Your vitals are all good.”

 

“Thank you, Doc. Sorry you had to see that I, I usually have better manners.”

 

“I don't know what you mean, I saw nothing. Now let's make sure your cognitive skills weren’t affected, I’m going to ask you a few questions, I want you to follow my finger.”

 

Bruce stays away from any prying questions and Steve is grateful. He does asks a litany of mental health questions, though, and when he finds no ill effects he declares Steve fit, with the caveat that he really isn’t this kind of doctor, but it all seems to be on the up and up.

 

Steve takes his first deep breath in what feels like years. Strange, the air smells different in this century. It's a sign he  _ was  _ there in that bed. 

 

Natasha slips into view, one eyebrow raised. He nods, he’s ready to start fielding their questions. She jumps right in.

 

“Cap, any idea about why they went after you, maybe you saw something out there?”

 

“No.  No, there wasn’t anything or anyone as far as I could tell...it didn't - it didn't hurt me, well, it _ hurt me, _ but I didn't get a sense of malicious intent or an attack, I suppose. It just  _ took _ me.”

 

“Where?”

 

“To my bedroom in Brooklyn.”

 

Clint makes himself known with his normal tact.

 

“Man, did you forget? You live in the Tower now and Tony wouldn’t be caught dead in that hipsterville--wait, you meant your old place.”

 

Tony snorts somewhere in the background and Nat shoots Clint her ‘ **shut up now** ’ look and Clint gives her his patented  ‘ **what the hell did** **_I_ ** **do** ’  one back, gesturing to Steve as if to say ‘ **he’s the one who said it** .’

 

“Yes, the apartment I lived in. I woke up in my bed. And as strange as that is, it gets worse...I was in a fever, the worst one I ever had...and it was 1941.”

 

The bombshell explodes and he watches all of them exchange stunned looks, except for Tony of course, who has his back to the conversation, but Steve knows he is listening.

 

Natasha is the first one to recover when she asks him with quiet determination,

 

”Are you sure, Steve? You said you were in a fever.”

 

“Natasha’s right, Steve, sometimes the brain will-” Bruce begins but Steve talks over him, needing them to understand.

 

“You don’t--I'm not explaining this right. I was _ me.  _ As in I weighed next to nothing, sick and dying, burning up in my bed, not like I’m talking to you right now. I was lying there stuck in that brok---my pre-serem body. But I was also me, from now, in my head.” 

 

He trips over the retelling of it, and feels the old brokenness flare deep in his chest. The memory of so recently being in a body that could barely breathe for the pain slicing deep into it rolls through him like a  trembler after an earthquake.

 

Natasha steps closer and slips her hand in his, letting her warm touch remind him he's real and here without saying a word and then let's go just as surreptitiously.

 

“So it took you back to a time when your body was at its weakest, before the serum. I’m curious as to how they or whomever, knew to send you to that specific time and place when you were at your most vulnerable.”

 

“Doc, I was pretty sick most of my life pre-serum. It wouldn’t be hard to find out.”

 

Bruce nods and contemplates before turning away and walking over to Tony, a question already issuing forth.

 

“Tony, did Steve show any signs of a fever or illness other than unconsciousness when you got to him?”

 

“Well, he wasn’t unconscious when I found him, and he didn't seem to have a fever but he wasn’t really all there either. Think less ‘One flew over the Cuckoo's nest’ and more ‘Burning Man.”

 

“What does that mean?” Steve asks, dreading the answer already.

 

“You were a little worse for wear, pal,  pretty muddled and didn't know who I was, gotta say that’s a first.  I didn’t see anyone and Jarvis didn’t detect heat signatures or surveillance. You just mumbled something about a promise and then did your best ‘possum impression and played dead. I had to drag you back to the jet, didn't have time for more than those initial scans.”

 

Steve sits up in surprise, accidentally dislodging the foil tarp Bruce wrapped him in. In his shock he never even had the wherewithal to ask Tony how they got back to the jet. 

“So there wasn’t anything that struck you as out of place?” he asks, realizing Tony might be the only one who knows since Steve was clearly impaired.

Amusement flickers over Tony’s face, the corner of his mouth curling up in that way that means he’s especially satisfied and Steve just knows whatever he says next is going to make him wish he was still unconscious. With his usual flair for the dramatic Tony pauses before announcing,

 

“Nope, not unless you count the fact that you were in a circle of your clothes, half-striped down to your birthday suit.” 

 

He feels all their eyes dart back to him, raptly staring when an angry red mottling suffuses his chest as his body tries valiantly to blush. And here he thought this couldn’t get any worse. Squirming under the attention he tugs the crinkly material back around him in a pathetic attempt at modesty and mutters, “I don’t remember doing that…”

 

“Like I said, ‘Burning Man’.” Tony says, gesturing at Steve like it explains everything.

 

“Interesting…” Bruce muses.

 

“Yes,  _ quite _ interesting,” Tony replies, managing to make it sound less like an important piece of the puzzle and more like some kind of innuendo and Steve feels his backbone stiffen even as he’s wishing he could just sink through the floor now.

 

“Show me what Jarvis’ has got,” Bruce demands and soon he and Tony are sharing data and the excited tone of their voices makes Steve feel slightly less like an amoeba under a microscope. He hears words like ‘transfer of consciousness’ and ‘gamma poisoning’ and ‘altered states’ before Clint comes up and slaps him on the back, displacing the silver blanket again as he merrily chirps,

 

“Don't worry, happens to the best of us, Steve. I can’t tell you how many times Nat’s found me wandering around half nude, or even fully nude for that matter. No shame in my game.”

 

Natasha chuckles in amusement, “You could use a little more shame, Clint.”

 

“Naw, where’s the fun in that? Now, this one time in Budapest...” he waggles his eyebrows at Steve and Natasha steps between them and growls,

 

“Barton no one wants to hear your exploits. Drop it-”

 

Tony interrupts loudly from across the lab “-ooh, me, me, I wanna hear! Seem awfully touchy about Budapest, Romanov, you’re slipping...”

 

She ignores Tony and holds her domineering stance, only now she is nimbly flipping a dagger in her hand that seems to have come from nowhere. Clint mimes turning a key in a lock and throwing it away then blows her a kiss, moving deftly out of the line of fire. When she  pivots back to Steve the blade is gone and she is flipping her hair over her shoulder instead, sweetly asking,

“Now where were we? Ah, right. Doc says your vitals are fine, but we should get you warmed up a little more, so let’s go grab you a shower. I cased it myself when we first got here. Trust me, you’ll like it,” she says confidently as she guides Steve away from the bed, making sure to wrap the now crushed blanket back around his shoulders even though he stands almost a foot over her. 

 

Clint gives him a saucy wink and Steve notes the way he leans,  taut and tense against the bench behind him. He’s putting on a good face for Steve. The feeling of being watched follows him as he shuffles past.  Nat leads him up the passageway with her hand at the crook of his elbow, like she’s afraid he will tip over, and maybe she’s right. He is exhausted. He can feel it settling like a tattoo under his skin. The blanket trails behind him like a cape and he feels about as ridiculous as he’s sure he looks, a poor parody of a hero in a comic book.

 

He coasts in a fog and the idea of getting warm seems like the best one he’s ever heard as they wind their way up a beautifully carved staircase. He grabs at the balustrade when a wave of dizziness threatens his balance. Natasha just calmly waits for it to pass and steps softly in front of him, now leading.  Steve finds himself following the arch of her neck and the way her hair swings, the red of it plays against the pine walls and the artist buried beneath the soldier wants to catch it all down, the subtle sway of her form so lithe and delicate and lethal. She stops and glances back over her shoulder with a wry quirk of her mouth as if she knows exactly where his thoughts have drifted, amusement in her eyes. 

 

She leans against  the frame of the last door, with crossed arms, then reaches out and swings it wide to reveal a bedroom so extravagant it would meet even Tony’s impossible standards. In fact, Steve’s sure he’d be envious of all the muted shades of red covering everything, it’s his signature color after all. Tony..he almost stumbles when he thinks about how Tony’s hands felt stroking him,  holding him like Steve was something precious and breakable. It’s so at odds with the way they have been throwing themselves against one another lately he wonders again if he dreamed it.  

 

In fact, he wonders if he is still dreaming right now as he lumbers into the room beneath enormous wooden beams jutting out eerily like wrecked ships from the darkened corners. It makes him feel small, taking him back to younger days when everything and everyone towered over him. Natasha redirects his course until they step into a room filled with the hush that open spaces seem to have. Their footfalls echo off tile.

 

She flips a switch and an amber glow diffuses through glass panels that cut the space in half.  A bench carved out of marble lines the entire room and rows of chrome showerheads and spouts push from the wall behind the glass. She leaves Steve standing on grey and white stones. They are worn river rocks that swirl from floor to ceiling in a starburst design he recognizes from a book on Turkish baths he studied one summer. A tier of thick towels and bottles of sea glass line shelves that seem carved out of the walls and he  follows the curving line up to a ceiling made up of tiny mosaic tiles made to look like constellations in the night sky.

 

He is so tired but he takes a moment to appreciate the beauty of the most decadent bathroom he’s ever stepped foot in. He yearns to be under the hot spray of water already, but the idea of fumbling his way through what is sure to be a high tech control panel has him cursing under his breath. Natasha’s voice floats from across the room, 

 

“I’m no Jarvis, but I’ve disarmed nuclear warheads, averted human genocide, and once even got Tony to shut up for ten minutes. I’m sure I can figure out this shower, Steve. Just go sit, relax.“ 

 

Steve feels pinpricks of heat high in his cheeks.

 

_ How does Nat know everything? _

 

He stands before the bench and lets the silver cape fall like a cut parachute. He’s dimly aware of taking his boots off. His belt and pants are next followed lastly by his socks. Once he’s down to his skivvies he sits, unsure of what to do next. He feels full of lead and ready to drop and more out of place than he ever has before. The sense he really is in the wrong century assaults him from every surface. 

 

Natasha approaches and he squints up at her as she glides through clouds of steam like an apparition. Her hands land on his shoulders, light as a butterfly wings. She’s only assessing him for damage, but he wishes she would hurry it along.  She bends gracefully and he can smell her subtle spice as she gathers up the trail of clothes he’s left forgotten. She absconds with them and comes back with two towels, plush and ruby red, setting them close by, along with a washcloth and a plain bar of soap. She watches him enigmatically for a few more seconds.

 

“All Set, Cap. I’ll come looking for you in 30. You good?”

 

He looks her calmly in the eye and lies with a nod. And she lets him. 

 

She softly kisses his forehead before retreating past the walls of glass as the lights dim.She walks out of view and the scent of her still lingers in the humid air. The door clicks shut and he doesn't move a muscle, straining to hear if she is still outside or has moved away. Some things he still would like to keep private, as impossible an endeavor as it seems.

 

He stands up and pulls the elastic band of his regulation whites down his thighs, past his knees and gingerly steps out of them. He bends ungainly to pick them up before folding them neatly out of habit and setting them next the to towels.  It’s hard to see now, as steam billows in the soft glow. He stands there unsure of where he should be, questioning his very existence and breathes easy for all of one minute.

 

Then the shaking begins. He hunches over, his right arm around his middle where the maw of the abyss he can never fill screams jagged and raw. He rests his left palm on the cool marble, trying to keep himself standing. A broken moan escapes him when at last he feels the spray on his back in exquisite relief as warmth cascades down his quivering body. 

 

He finds himself sliding down past the slick marble bench to slump weakly on the warm river stones. All the fear and shock, the desire and despair, run out of his many cracks, flooding the room, mingling with the clean water to circle the drain. A tiny sob catches on the darkness inside before slipping out of him to bounce off the tiled sky above him. He was so close...for a brief, fiery moment, Bucky was alive and real and safe. 

 

He lets the steam and water cover him, hiding the tears that seep from a place deep inside he thought he'd lost to frostbite back in that mountain pass so many years ago. A piece of his young heart is still back there, maybe it always will be. The water may wash away the aches and pains from his exhausted body, but it can’t wash the grime from his heart or the secrets waiting there to devour him.

 

He finds himself remembering that ugly confession. Time had worn away it’s edges like the rocks under his feet, but now….oh it’s in such sharp focus for him now. He can still hear that quiet gasp of betrayal when his own voice branded Bucky a coward. He feels an answering  throb of cowardice in himself and it hits him in all it’s razor-edged glory like a swift kick to the head.

Oh god, he’s been such a fool. He was so angry that night at Bucky for pushing him away, denying him, but isn’t that exactly what he’s been doing to Tony? Even if his intentions are honorable, how must it seem? 

 

He’s been telling himself that it’s about keeping Tony safe, but really, it’s been about protecting himself from remembering too keenly what it feels like to give his heart to someone who has no idea what to do with it.  

 

His own hypocrisy has been staring him in the face. He’s been calling it weakness, the way Tony makes him feel. But his heart had known, even back then, that love isn’t a weakness. Somewhere between then and now his head had just forgotten. The brave conviction he felt in that fever is a reminder that some things are worth the risk. Steve can abide many things, but running from the truth isn’t one of them. Time for him to stop. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from Kris Delmhorst's song.
> 
> In twilight and blindness  
> All our work is done  
> We fumble and flail, we try and we fail,  
> We only are what we almost become
> 
> It's both our curse and our grace, here in this place  
> To reach for heights that we'll never climb  
> And the distance between the drop and the dream  
> Is our one little piece of the divine
> 
> It's a weak little flame, it's all we got to our name  
> So why be ashamed to let it burn


	13. Cobbled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They got Steve back. So why does it feel like a loss?

Tony has been over it. Somewhere in all this it’s  staring him in the face .

 

But he needs Steve’s biochip.

 

God damn Steve, haunting him,  nothing between them but everything.

 

And then he was pushed away.

 

Lather rinse repeat.

 

He is done with Steve Rogers.

 

He emphatically  throws a wrench, watching it land with a satisfying clang right next to Clint, who at this moment has that glazed look every non-genius Tony spends more than ten minutes around seems to get.

 

Which is almost everyone for anyone keeping track.

 

His  satisfaction dies a quick death. Clint doesn’t even flinch, the bastard.

 

He scowls and grabs another one. Bruce shoots an exasperated look  as if he is the most put upon man in the entire universe, and Tony lets it fly.

As it reaches the zenith, Barton plucks it right out the air, grinning broadly.

 

Three more launch  in rapid succession. Barton snatches them all with delicate precision and juggles them with flair, winking  before firing them all back at Tony.

 

He rolls and grabs a gauntlet and manages to blast the last one right out of the air, before sticking his tongue out at Clint’s  smirking face.

.   

 

Bruce emerges from behind the table he had taken refuge dusting off his pants and muttering about children and naptime.

 

Natasha appears like the ghost of Hamlet’s father and clears her throat making both he and Clint start.  

 

Tony is already looking to put about five more feet between he and the widow when Clint leaps from the table to a low rafter as if the hounds of hell are after him. Which to be  honest he’d rather deal with.

 

“If you’re quite done destroying your toys, playtime’s over. We have things to discuss. Barton, I will not repeat myself.”

 

She finishes with a hard-edged glare and Clint drops down next to Bruce, ducking behind him for cover.

 

“Bruce, tell her, he started it, “ pointing emphatically at Tony.

 

“Very mature, Barton, hiding behind the favorite who also happens to turn into a rage monster, and I was merely proving Newton’s third law, trying to expand your mind. That’s the thanks I get.”

 

“Boys, you keep it up and I will demonstrate a widow’s third law.”

 

Bruce steps aside with his hands held up,

 

“I am not party to this,”

Clint shoots a suspicious set of looks at Bruce.

 

“Doc, that’s what you always say, I’m starting to think some millionaire’s paying you off, you party animal. And how is trying to blast my fine fletcher’s ass out of the room an equal reaction, Stark?”

 

“Firstly, Barton it’s billions, gods, how do you have such a high rate of accuracy with those dismal rudimentary math skills?  Our public school system at work ladies and gentlemen, Jarvis, make a note to Pepper to look into fixing that.”

 

“Sir, I will add it to the list, however I feel I would be remiss if I did not point out the last time you requested the reformation of an entire institution she asked that  I remind you that as efficient and accomplished as she is it would be a better use of her time and resources to focus on her current position as CEO of Stark Industries as she already has her hands full with one group of adolescent children keeping the board in line, and until you are open to an adjustment of monetary compensation you’d do well in the future to remember that.”

 

“Talk about an equal and opposite reaction, alright, alright, J, tell Pep we will discuss this at an appropriate time and by that I mean never.”

 

“Jokes on you Tony, this perfectly molded intellect comes from the school of hard knocks, not your American system, and back to the point I was making before you deflected with your usual diva dramatics, don’t think I didn’t notice that two days after Bruce took your side on the Skynet debate that giant, very shiny, very expensive looking dork-trometer-whatchamacallit showed up in his lab.”

 

Tony’s poker face is perfect, Bruce however.

 

“Aha! Knew it!! Collusion!” he crows when Bruce looks up guiltily.

 

“Never, listen little orphan Annie, like I told Brucie-bear the same day that was merely an early Arbor day gift. Who doesn’t love a little something shiny and silicon to celebrate all the arbors and whatnot. Psssshh, you’ve got nothing.”

 

“I highly doubt that a geek-oscillator  that costs the equivalent of the gdp of a small nation state is ‘nothing’.”

 

“I regret nothing,”says Bruce.

 

Natasha  makes her presence felt with a piercing whistle.

 

All three of them  flinch in varying degrees of pain.

 

“I think I can speak for the rest of us, I deeply regret Steve ever teaching you that,” Tony shakes his head.

 

“Well now that we have everyone’s regrets or lack thereof on the record, can we discuss the real threat here? What have you three come up with, who hurt our boy?”

 

Silence.

 

Clint shrugs, Bruce frowns and Tony, well, he just goes back to the streams of data scrolling past, watching peripherally. Bruce clears his throat as the tension deepens and searches Natasha’s tight features.

 

“How is he?”

 

She flicks her eyes down to her fingers, as if sharpening claws, a tick in her jaw and calmly says,

 

“About as well as we can expect...physically.”

 

It’s all the unspoken words that make Tony’s nervous stomach drop even further, making it a new low.

 

“Aww come one guys, this is Cap we’re talking about here. He always bounces back.” Clint says with about as much conviction as a wet towel.

 

Tony scowls, saying what everyone is afraid to.

 

“Barton, some things you can’t come back from.”

 

Clint shoots Tony a glare, his cheery facade cracking apart and Tony looks up. The sudden intensity on Clint’s face throws him for a second. Sometimes Tony forgets that Clint has come back from his own hell more than once.

 

“I’m not naive, Stark. I know better than some. But here’s an idea. Maybe we just need to give Steve a little of the trust that he’s given us, that he’s going to fight his way back, he would never give up on any of us, so why don't you do something novel and try to be less of the asshole you seem to want us to think you are get on board with the team for once, Tony…..Cause we are a fucking team.”

 

“Barton, I’m not being an asshole here, at least, not about this, in this very specific moment.”

 

Clint shoots him a unusually dark look, and Tony keeps going, trying to explain the feeling in his gut,

 

“Look, I trust Steve, and  give up on him?! Hell I saved the guy and what’s with the team bullshit! You act like I’m the only one around here keeping secrets and isolating himself, ha, our foolhardy Captain has gotten quite good at that, lead by example I suppose.”

 

Bruce steps forward, and calmly says, “People seem to underestimate Steve’s healing abilities is all Clint is trying to say Tony, it’s not foolish to recognize that,”

 

Tony backs away, frustrated and feeling guilty for some reason.

 

“I’m not discounting his incredibly stubborn will and his ability to tell things that would crumble greater men ‘no, not today’. But you didn't see Steve, you didn't _see_  him- “ he chokes off on a barely disguised curse.

 

Tony knows with a certainty he only ascribes to his tech or Pepper’s unequaled ability to see through Tony's bullshit that Steve has been hiding something.

 

So the dilemma, does he wait for Steve’s overwhelming goodness to take center stage and let him confess or should he breach trust that has taken so long to build between them and mention his suspicions to the team?

 

Tony’s the last one to play show and tell these days with all his inner demons but some corner of his mangled heart knows that this secret is one that could kill.

 

Natasha speaks up as he’s compiling the list of pros and cons.

 

“Tony, we all know the stakes here, Barton, no one is giving up. So let’s be a team, I Want to have everything we’ve got, our best theories and the data, all ready to go, no matter what happened out there, we are not going in blind again”

 

Tony keeps his mouth shut, he’ll keep Steve’s secrets a little longer.

 

“Do you understand me, gentlemen?” Natasha asks with sweet intensity,

 

Clint looks from Tony to Bruce and back at Natasha before he says.

 

”Well you can’t have expected me to answer to that one, babe,”

 

Bruce snorts of all things.

 

Tony realizes somehow he is the other adult in the room and it’s pure betrayal.

 

“I need the biochip. One of you losers is gonna have to retrieve it.”

 

Barton perks up, he has been itching to get out as he can only find so many beams to jump on Nat from in the cabin. His blood is probably still up from their little sparring match that Nat cut short.

 

“Ooh, oooh , me, me pick me...please.”

 

“No one is going out alone. Fine B Team, will retrieve that chip. But Barton, you try to ambush me at any point you will come back bearing new holes. Go get our gear,”

 

Clint whoops and bounds to get their arctic gear and Natasha just stares at Tony, like she is trying to decide if she can leave the kids alone in the house.

 

“No loud parties, I know..” he says sweetly like the brat he is.

 

Bruce cleans his glasses trying to look as innocent as possible and Nats sighs and grabs Tony’s wrist and drags him over to the closest corner.

 

“Tony. This means you are on Capwatch. He’s not...Steve is……” she keeps restarting, not finishing her sentences, She’s so protective of Steve,  it stabs a jealous part of him.

 

Tony cannot help but remember her wounding words only days ago in an elevator…

 

“Hey, he was  like that when I found him, you know,  there’s no you break you buy policy here, I’ve kept my god damn hands inside the vehicle, Romanov and quite frankly this is partly your fault shoving Steve right into my path, like you even know the first thing about-- “

 

Natasha interrupts him,

“-maybe I was a bit forceful…I was wrong. Maybe none of us wanted to notice how hard Steve’s been struggling.  I take that on myself, but don't for one second put this disaster that you and Steve created between the two of you at my doorstep.”

 

“Ha, you’ve been pulling strings this entire time and we both know it. So nice of you to join me down here in the muck.”

 

“Stark, once again,it's not about you. “

 

“Fine, so what is it about then, you're the one who dragged me into the corner to talk about boys.”

 

“You clearly have a bond with Steve, he trusts you. ‘Don't let him be alone, Tony. You and Bruce need to make sure, no matter what he says…” she trails off , and Tony thinks she is done. Until she grabs his arm and he is taken aback for a second.

 

“He is a consummate liar, as it turns out,” she drives the point home, her  eyes unblinking and filled with unspoken terror of all she can’t bring herself to name.

 

Tony just stands there, quiet and dismayed and uncomfortable and desperately wanting to  go back to being snarky but he can’t quite convince himself to get there. He tries anyway.

 

“Fine, Mom, We promise not to burn the house down. Or break Steve…”

 

Nat just shakes her head and walks away, cursing under her breath in russian, Clint running around her like an excited puppy.

 

Bruce comes up next to him and they silently watch.

 

“At least he’s housebroken” Bruce says,

 

Tony huffs half-heartedly, and claps a hand on Bruce, noting the way Bruce doesn't flinch away. Maybe they all need a little reassurance. And since when the hell did Tony become the one for the job?!

 

“Well Bruce, now that stepmom is gone what do you say we find something to destroy, get a little hulk smash on, I’ve been dreaming about that damn bed of Fury’s what say we give it a go while Jarvis configures the next test.”

 

“Tony, you can’t just blow up things, well, you can,-but you really shouldn’t-”

 

“Give me a little more credit than that, please, no incendiary or explosive devices will be used, that would be cheating.”

 

“You know some might say this kind of thing stems from your issues with authority,”

 

“Oh , Doc, if you are about to say neglected, genius, only child, abandonment and trust issues based off his spectacularly cliched relationship with dear old Dad, about five other shrinks have gotten there before you. And you're not one to tread old ground.”

 

“Never dream of it.”

 

“So want to rock, paper, scissors, for who is on Steve duty? Hmm, maybe you’re looking to upgrade your lab, what would you like for Arbor day this year, what makes your little bruce heart go pitter-pat?”

 

Bruce just looks speculative and wise like an owl blinking at Tony and  he knows that Bruce can see right through him.

 

“You seemed to handle Steve fine earlier.”

 

“Doc, you and I both know that is like a blue moon or Thor leaving crockware unsmashed, a rare event, so I think I’ve done most of the heavy lifting around here, it can be your turn now. Besides you have like 2 more phds than I do. For now.”

 

“So, if I were to ask you how you are doing with all of this--”

 

“Ah, clever Banner, no, nope, not gonna get me to talk about my feelings how sneaky of you-”

 

“-I asked pretty straightforward actually, not sure how sneaky-”

 

“-And to think you were the favorite , held onto that title so long, but well-”

 

“- got into it, wait- were? So that’s it, I ask one question and no more favorite-”

 

“-you knew the rule, no feelings talk, so go turn in your badge-”

 

“-Tony, I don’t  bring the badge with me, you know this, after you lectured me for an hour about losing the first one, with a powerpoint and everything-”

 

“-well, it worked so stop complaining, besides you know how low tech it was to make a powerpoint presentation? No appreciation -”

 

“-Tony the only one here complaining is you, and I will risk losing favorite status, because I worry and I want to know if you -”

 

-don’t you have a patient to check on, Doctor?” this last line Tony delivers with a tremble running through it.

 

Bruce just shuts his mouth, giving Tony his most disapproving look. Tony considers it a win and starts to walk away.

 

“He’d do it for you,” Bruce softly says to Tony’s retreating back.

 

Of course Bruce is right.

 

Captain Perfect would be by Tony’s side taking all his bullshit and making everyone feel sorry for him. But Steve’s not perfect.

 

Turns out the guy might be as messed up as Tony, maybe more.

 

Months ago this realization would have had Tony crowing in glee, to see Steve taken down a few notches and some chinks in his armor. Now it just makes some part of him twist up on itself.  That right there tells Tony he needs to stay the hell away from Steve Rogers.

 

~

 

Steve is still lying on the tiles, water washing away the last of the cold and he feels eons old,

 

The water shuts off and he sits there in the steam and the low light and it’s been a long time, but Steve faces himself  under a night sky as cobbled together as he is.

 

There are no phantom sensations of Bucky and that fever.

 

He is Steve Rogers Super Soldier again.

 

On the outside at least. Inside he isn’t sure who the hell he is anymore. He has been dragged from one end of this planet to the other, but he hasn't let himself be a part of it.

 

He holds onto a world that doesn’t exist anymore.

 

But it did. And all the things he ever wished and hoped for are still alive in that weak boy in a bed in Brooklyn. And if what the smartest minds around say is true, it still does, in some other dimension, on other worlds and other Steves. Steves who got it right, who saved them, who got that dance, even ones who never got the serum.

 

Does he even believe in anything if he can't be sure it matters?

 

He can only try. So he pulls himself off the floor sliding limbs and all.

 

He manages to wrap a towel around his waist, and then stands there, dripping and adrift. He feels like he might sleep for a year. He chills at the thought that he’s done it before.

 

He stumbles toward the door, still off-kilter. He stops himself at the frame and just presses his forehead into the wood.

 

Ten breaths later he opens it and steps  into the massive-beamed room. The bed he had shambled past before now draws his complete attention. The crimson pillows and deep burgundy silk and a throw so soft it looks fuzzy, almost makes him cry again.

 

He needs sleep but he’s so afraid of what he will see when he does.

 

His body decides for him as he drags himself up and over the bedding, and flops face down. He slides his head on a pillow, his eyes are already closed and he is slipping faster than he ever expected. Asleep within seconds.

~

 

Tony sits at his station for another ten minutes, ignoring Bruce.

 

He lasts another six minutes before he stands in a huff and shoots Bruce his I-am-not-apologizing-so-you-can-forget-it-look. Bruce smiles hopefully and Tony scoffs. But he can feel the decision to cave hovering.

 

“Son of a bitch.”

 

Bruce’s shoulders loosen visibly and Tony turns heel and stomps his way out of the lab.

 

“Thank you, Tony,” he hears  behind him as he walks from the passageway into the great room.

 

Tony stops at the foot of the stairs waiting for an asteroid, or earthquake, some sign that the apocalypse is truly on it’s way,  with a twist of fate, the very fate he just tempted.

 

When nothing happens he takes a deep breath and climbs the stairs. Already dreading the next moments He isn’t sure where Natasha actually stashed Steve, there are more than enough bedrooms to choose from. He stands at the end of the hall, staring at the soft indentions in the carpet , like tracks in the snow. Steve’s deep and close together, moving at what must have been a glacial pace, and Natasha’s are light and barely there, as though she rides high.

 

He follows them down to the last door, and Tony finds a wry smile on his face, of course She put him in Fury’s red-walled  monstrosity.

 

Now that he is actually here he isn't sure what to do. The obvious choice would be to knock, but he’s considering taking the advantage of surprise. Steve won’t be able to shield his emotions or grip on the present, like Nat said,  Steve is a consummate liar. He decides to split the difference and knocks softly as he is swinging the door wide.

 

The room is dark but for the soft gleam of a lamp in the furthest corner. Tony scowls at the French Bordello-esque decor and the overbearing wood and gilt framed mirrors peeking out from their swaths of velvet. Jesus,  did Fury actually hire someone to give it the Baz Luhrmann treatment?  He’s looking for a golden elephant when his eyes spot a lump marring the perfect line of the coverlet. He pads into the room, cause with carpet this thick, you really only can pad.

 

He works his way round to the side of the bed that is now holding the sleeping form of one Steve Rogers.

 

In a towel.

 

And nothing else.  

 

Some masochistic part wakes up and feasts on all the smooth skin that is on display while the more sane part of himself wrestles it into submission with a heavy whine.

 

How is this his life?

 

How many dreams start exactly like this, well, without the weird creeper ogling, this is so unfair, how is anyone expected to react rationally when they have Steve spread out like this, that damn red towel barely keeping his modesty modest.  

 

The decor must be getting to him, cause Tony is a big ole fan of consent and this right here is skirting a line.

 

Tony steps up to the bed, the subtle scent of soap and something else, something Steve hits his nose. He closes his eyes for a second and steels himself and then with Herculean effort Tony leans over grabbing  the first blanket he can get his hands on. He pulls it  across the bed and over Steve.

 

It settles and Tony can breathe again, when a low moan rises in the quiet.  It was definitely not him. Tony is not acquainted with many of the sounds that make up Steve, until recently that is. That moan though,  it strikes somewhere low in answer and he begins to backpedal.

 

He needs to leave before Steve wakes up and this becomes another

Steve will hold against him. Why does he keep finding Steve precariously dressed?

 

As Tony backs away he trips, His feet are tangled in what had been a pile of clothes that Steve was supposed to have put on.  The universe is having a laugh right in Tony’s face. He glares at the offending articles, and sticks his tongue out at them, the cleverly designed trap that a 2 year old could outwit. Another slow moan suffuses the room, and Tony is reminded why this is all going to end in tears.

 

Steve is shifting now, and Tony does the first thing that comes to mind. An unfortunate thing to be sure,

 

He crawls  across the floor, beneath the eyeline of the bed, ignoring the the sudden awful urge to laugh. Which turns into a deep roiling need, and he is shaking and spasming at how ridiculous this moment in time is.

 

If you had said one day Tony would be  with Steve moaning, naked a foot away, in no dimension would he ever have pictured this scenario.

 

Tony loses his control and starts huffing as a particularly furious bubble bursts. Tony keeps trudging across the thick carpet, and refuses to look back. He’s about five feet from the door when Steve speaks.

 

“-coward is what you are.”

 

Tony freezes at that.

 

“... gonna leave…”

 

Steve sounds small, somehow, and so hurt that Tony finds his laughter dries up.

 

“You promised Buck....”

 

He divides his attention between getting to the door and making a little noise as possible that  he almost misses the betrayal ringing in the last words he hears as he is inching out of the room. He is at last in the hallway, and relief courses through him as he lets the handle slide in his grip and leans back against the opposite wall, staring blankly at the closed door.

 

All the breath whooshes out of him.

 

The same words that Steve had spoken when he found him.   It is all starting to make a  kind of sense, and Tony feels the proverbial light click on. Steve’s reluctance, evasions.. It validates a few of the theories Tony’s been tinkering with..

 

His heart is tripping , stomach dips and dives, and he doesn’t need another reason why he and Steve would never work, but there it is, one Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.

 

Tony laughs bitterly at the cosmic joke that is life. He’s tried so hard to not to be like dear old Dad, and here he is with a raging obsession with Captain America . Tony wonders for the first time if Howard might have been in love with Steve. No, no there are some things he will never be adult enough to deal with sober.

 

Steve is like a siren, luring people to their unrequited deathbed confessions. Peggy, Howard, now Bucky, even Coulson, damn, and now Tony can scrawl his name on that illustrious list, ‘TS was here’.

 

Hiis knees crack when he stands before settling into his stride and putting at least one story between he and the half-naked man behind the pine door.

 

He gets no more than three feet before falling to the carpet, his guts feeling squeezed, drags across him like a net.

 

Something is wrong, wrong, wrong....all he can think as his body is wracked with pain. He must have made some sound. Because he hears Steve call out.

 

‘Tony?”

 

He hears from far off. It’s Steve, definitely.

 

Tony activates the one gauntlet he has on him,   and he hears

 

“Where are you?”

 

He manages to eek  through waves of pain,

 

“Out here....a little help….”

 

He’s seconds away from losing  consciousness, he chokes and wonders for a second if he’s lying on a floor with his heart out of his chest. He flinches in terror.

 

Steve is bellowing, and there’s a vague sense of hands grabbing at him before a roaring overwhelms him. And he sinks into a blue dazzle of bright against his eyelids, his hand clenched with power humming through it as he is sucked into the darkness.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	14. Of mice and men...and robots.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Tony tossed together - what could go wrong?

Steve rises from the depths of another body crushing fog. He is lying in a bed, again. This time he is in his serum body. It's a dark room and hard for Steve to distinguish anything in the murk. His right arm is numb because he--he’s holding someone, someone with a warm body and a steady gleam of blue. Steve jolts, and the body responds,

 

“Five more m’ntes, kay J?”

 

Steve curses his luck. He panics and starts to extricate himself from the many-limbed creature that Tony apparently turns into when asleep. As the blood rushes back into his arm he adjusts to two things: He and Tony are together, and that together includes a lot of skin contact in a bed that seems to go on forever. 

 

Tony whines and like a grappling hook, snags and then tugs himself across Steve, spilling himself, hands and legs running along all his skin and heat and settles under his chin.

 

_ Oh, now this seems entirely unfair.  _

 

Steve knows he hasn't got long before Tony wakes fully and figures out that something is horribly,  horribly, wrong. He needs to get up and away, even as he acknowledges this, some deeper part of him wants to simply hold the sleeping Stark. 

 

His internal debate is interrupted when Tony hums and it buzzes against Steve’s collarbone, pebbling his skin, sensitizing his entire body. This can’t be happening. He swallows hard and pulls an old trick from back in the Commando days and begins internally reciting the ‘41 Series Brooklyn Dodgers lineup..

 

_ Reese...Herman...Reiser... Medwick...  _

 

Tony shifts closer, rolling, rippling along Steve’s long frame, his stubble catching against all Steve’s blood-flushed skin and he feels like a thief, taking something he doesn’t deserve. He tries to slide out again but Tony just moves with him.

 

_ Oh god, uh Cookie...Camilli...Walker...Owen, oh, oh _ -

 

Another hum as Tony flexes his fingers in a very _ interesting _ place and  Steve can’t take anymore.

 

“Hey, uh,  Tony, as wonderful as this feels, we uh, need to have a conversation first.”

 

Tony goes still in his arms and Steve can pinpoint the millisecond all of his memories return because he springs straight up looking around wildly, hair at odd angles, bare chested, the arc shining out and Steve can’t help but be poleaxed by how disarming he finds a disgruntled, rumpled-morning Tony.

 

He looks down at Steve, taking in the regalia of Steve’s red towel, the general proximity of their bodies and the state of undress and Steve is sure Tony can read the arousal still thrumming in the lines of his body.  His guilt-suffused cheeks probably catch him out as usual because there is no other way to describe it, Tony’s face goes glitchy, pinging between emotions too fast to follow before he moans loudly,

 

“No, No no no, no, this is not happening…..Oh Steve, you  _ would  _ get kidnapped in a damn towel. Of course, that’s that way the world works! Karma, you vindictive bitch.”

 

Steve watches Tony flail his way from the bed, sleep pants nearly tripping him up, and thinks,  _ at least you’ve got pants, _ while Tony’s still mumbling about the indignity of it all.  Steve takes a moment to inconspicuously inspect the arc reactor, he’s never really seen it up close like this, Tony always has layers on. He doesn’t flinch at  the scar tissue mottling the edges of the metal, he’s seen worse, but he knows that if Tony weren’t still ranting about his cursed life he would already have a shirt on. 

 

Suddenly Tony spins and he walks back over and points his finger directly into Steve’s face.

 

‘This is your fault.”

 

“How? We are in  _ your _ bed, Tony, not mine.” he points out helpfully.

 

Tony stares at him as if he has just given Steve another problem, not part of the solution.

 

He begins pacing in his usual frenetic way, throwing his hands out almost braining Steve multiple times before Steve loses his patience capturing the offending wrist on Tony’s next run past.  The blue glow gives Steve pause. Tony somehow has his repulsor gauntlet.

 

Then it hits him, they are both here, they can speak to one another,  this is new, something different. Before, with Bucky he’ d been in a loop, he couldn’t break the barrier, for lack of a better word. It’s Tony, himself,  _  he  _ interferes. The gauntlet, something about it might cause a kind of temporal disturbance, or the arc, or maybe even Tony himself. It’s a thought.

 

Tony having been watching Steve, glances at his wrist and back to Steve’s face and his eyes light up at the same realization. And now they are two grown men half-naked and staring at one another. It feels a bit strange. His heart trips and he drops the wrist he’d been clasping. 

 

Steve hitches his towel closer around his waist and Tony’s eyes flick down with a pained look before he breaks away from the bed. Steve stands, more than ready to be on two feet and decides the first thing that he requires: pants.

 

Tony is asking Jarvis about what day it is as Steve starts going through one dresser drawer after another.  A few silken and lacy things have him blushing, trying not to imagine Tony and his many proclivities. He doesn’t find any underwear  he can possible use but he does come across heather gray pants. They are soft knit and when he pulls them on they stretch around him like a second skin and Steve somehow feels more on display than he was in the towel. 

 

He picks up a sleeveless charcoal undershirt  draped across the chair next to the dresser. It glides over his chest and settles like a cloud and Steve shakes his head at the extravagance. He shifts from one foot to the other, his bare soles sinking into the carpet, wishing for shoes for when the running begins. There is always running.

 

He turns to find Tony watching the show with his mouth slightly open, his trawling gaze sliding all over Steve. He then closes his eyes as if put upon and says with a deadpan delivery, 

 

“Steve, this is going to be a very long day,”

 

He opens them back up, wincing and turns, escaping into the reaches of his closets, his muffled tones flouncing back at him as he explains, 

 

“Pepper is going to come walking in the door…. and then go walking out...and it will, ---ahem,  be a long time before she ever comes back.”

 

Tony walks back out in a deep red silk robe, the arc winking, still no shirt and now definitely no pants.  Steve tries, he really does, to focus on what Tony has just said and not on how Tony has somehow removed more clothes in a _ clothes closet _ than he has put back  _ on.  _  And his choice, well it’s a scandalously short, so short Steve fights the urge let his eyes drift.

 

“Maybe it won’t be as bad as I remember...”, Tony says with distant hope.

 

It’s a role reversal, Tony hoping and Steve knowing it’s in vain. No doubt it’ll be worse.

 

“Maybe...yes,” he lies anyway.

 

Tony walks out of the room, Steve automatically follows, briskly to his gallows, it seems. 

 

Steve starts lagging behind wondering where exactly Tony is going when his head begins to feel fuzzy. His vision is now blurring. He shakes his head  and his vision doubles, all he sees are the shrinking backs of bare legs, four of them. 

 

He tries to call out but as he takes a breath he loses the thread. There a constant pressure upon him, in his head, somewhere. Suddenly it pops like ears in altitude, he takes one step and stops. Everything rights itself but Steve is confused. He was sure he had been on his way to the kitchen. This is not the kitchen. 

_ Where did this hallway come from? Is that- Stark?!- _ w _ hat am I doing stalking down Tony Stark? _

 

He then sees Stark stop then turn back, as if waiting for Steve to catch up, but that’s impossible.  Steve hasn’t seen Tony since shield medical. On purpose. 

 

 _Why would I even be here, on the_ _top floor, in Tony’s private sanctum no less?!_

 

Steve would rather deal with another doombot army.  

 

“Come on, sweet cheeks, little more pep in your step before the real Pep descends upon us in all her wrathful glory.”

 

As the endearment rolls out of Tony’s mouth Steve freezes in place. This is most definitely not sarcasm, it’s an easy, intimate, teasing. Tony doesn’t even sound mad. Steve is forced into the truth of the fact Tony is being downright friendly.

  
  


He reassess. The only thing he can be certain of is that he has _ no _ idea what is going on. But something nags in the back of his skull, he knows he  _ should _ know what’s happening.

 

His face must show it because Tony puts his hands on his hips and frowns, that’s when Steve wakes to the shock the man is standing in nothing but a red silk robe and black underwear. He also knows they can only have just emerged from Tony’s bedroom. Finally Steve looks down at his own sleepwear and recognizes one of Tony’s shirts, and these are definitely not his pants. 

 

Steve’s brain takes all this in in an instant and the very obvious pattern forming has him stuttering in denial,

 

“Did we--T-tony, are we… and I don’t even--how did this happen? Why don’t I remember, my first time, you’d think, oh god, I, I-”

 

“Steve, what are you blathering about? You know Pepper is going to be here any minute.”

 

At that Steve truly panics, Pepper, oh god, he’d forgotten about Tony Stark’s very wonderful-and-undeserving-of-this-sort-of-betrayal girlfriend. Guilt and shame stew in his gut,  _ how did I ever let something like this happen? _ Steve always thought there were lines he would never cross.  

 

“Tony, we can’t let her see us like this, it’s going to be bad enough confessing to infidelity without flaunting it like some shameless-” Steve bites the rest of his sentence off, not even able to finish. 

 

Tony’s face goes slack in disbelief. His hands fall to his sides, and he stays like that. Steve doesn't see what’s so shocking about not wanting to have Pepper to have to see their morning after attire. 

 

No sooner had Steve thought it and Tony is quick-timing it back to Steve. As he gets within Steve’s orbit everything goes wobbly again for a few seconds and then it’s as if he surfaces after being underwater for a long time. He takes a deep breath. Steve can feel his own sense of self. The confusion is gone, he remembers it _ all _ . It slams back into his head like a freight train. He almost bends in half with the force.

 

Tony’s close now, so close. Steve could reach out and touch him, but he doesn’t. He just stands there panting.  _ Whoa, that had been intense. Too intense.  _ He’s never been more glad to see Tony.

 

‘Tony.”

 

“Steve, what in the living fuck was that about?”

 

“New side-effect, I think. When there is too much distance between us, I can’t hold on to who I am, I, I don’t understand it, whatever makes this trip different, but I have to be close to you.”

 

“Well master of mixed signals, that sounds like a plan, but aren’t you worried with me being the big bad wolf that I am, I might decide to do something awful like, I don’t know, steal your virginity?” Still willing to chance it, hmm, Steve?”

 

Steve winces slightly at the hard edge to his voice, ,how close to the edge of the truth that skirts, that’s exactly what this time’s Steve had thought.

 

“Tony, Pepper is gonna be--”

 

“Oh, hoo, ho, you started this, with all your stammering and floundering when you thought we were banging like bunnies-”

 

“Tony, is there any way out of this that leaves either of us with any dignity?”

 

“Not in those pants, Cap.”

 

Steve ignores that comment and instead figures out the distance they should safely maintain to keep him in the here and now, even if they don’t know why it's happening yet.

 

“I’ll need a ten foot radius.” he continues in unease. 

 

“So now you have to be on a ten foot leash or you might wander off, Rogers?”

 

“Honestly, I don’t see why you continue to behave as if I have personally done this to you. We both woke up to this together, in case you’ve forgotten.”

 

Tony’s eyes rake him up and down again and shakes his head in some put upon way. 

 

”Trust me on this, Steve, that is empirically not possible,” he hisses while flinging his hands up in his hair then turns and marches past.  Steve keeps pace this time but can tell there’s a slight panic building as Tony stomps his way into the main living area and over to a set of couches that already has seen more than their fair share of  benders.

 

A crystal cut decanter and matching tumbler sit resting on a side table and Tony makes a beeline for them. He is already downing whatever was sliding around from the night before and pouring more than a few fingers, crystal clinking in his nervous haste and downing it again. 

 

Steve can only  _ wish _ to get drunk these days. 

 

“Steve, I, uh, can’t seem to stop drinking,” Tony gets out through swallows of amber liquid.

 

“Does it feel compulsive?”

 

Tony shoots him quite a dirty look, “Steve, you never said anything about this, what the hell--”

 

Tony drinking, he must be feeling the  squeeze as Steve calls it in his head. That can only mean the current timeline is settling over him. Now or never he supposes and tells Tony what needs to come next.

 

““Alright, it seems the only way out is through. Tony, you’re going to have to let the, uh, the ‘other Tony’ take control,  you have to let it happen, follow his impulses, think of it like watching a memory happen, only it’ll be real...” he trails off, feeling like an idiot.

 

Tony glares at Steve in  fury and recrimination and very carefully says,

 

“Great, lets recap, so this thing that had you practically catatonic out in the ice,  you now expect  _ me _ to willingly let it happen? Jesus, Rogers, couldn’t have mentioned this earlier,  got any more stellar advice?”

 

“For me, it felt like a script.  If you try and change the lines or deviate,  it gets fuzzy, even if you try, trust me, it---it doesn’t go well...umm, where should I...?” 

 

“..hide so Pepper won’t find you wearing her pants and creepily listening in on the takedown of the century?” 

 

_ What? _

 

He looks down at the clingy material around his nethers  and the cuffs that end above his ankles back to the dark amusement now pouring off of Tony. Of course, he’s wearing Pepper’s pants. Some of the frillier things he remembers in those drawers make sense now. Before he’s aware his entire face is  in flames to the tips of his ears. Oh no, he’s gone through Pepper’s underwear. He’s practically wearing it! 

 

He wants to vanish. 

 

Tony has clearly been enjoying the show but he now points beside himself, no longer using his words, only slurping down his liquid courage.  Steve unrolls his shoulders trying to get some semblance of dignity back with the heavy aroma of expensive spirits redolent in the air pairing with his own acute embarrassment.

 

“Sir, Miss Potts has arrived,” rings out in Jarvis’s calm and modulated tone. 

 

Tony’s reaction is almost comic, his face drops the pretense of any kind of control as he begins to drink in earnest, as if before he were merely dabbling. Steve’s own brain panics as the implication of what exactly is this looks like swirls before him in a sickening kaleidoscope of the complete mortification of everything he holds dear. He snaps his head down at his own appearance and then over to Tony’s. Debauched come to mind. 

 

Tony’s eyes go big and Steve can feel the same look sliding across his own face, pure panic filling the room. Where can he go? It’s too late to try and back out of the room, not even sure how he might begin to explain his presence here in Tony’s inner sanctum, let alone the pants. 

 

As the elevator discreetly opens down the hall the sudden click-clack of heels against the marble floor echoes in some horrible mockery of a countdown.  _ Oh no, oh no, no _ ….Steve rushes past Tony, looking for an escape, an exit, but Tony grabs at him life he’s the life jacket here and not the one drowning. His fingers catch on Steve’s borrowed shirt, pulling at him, trying to keep him there, to  shield himself from what is clearly a debacle waiting to be unleashed. Steve hisses in annoyance and pulls sharply against the death grip Tony has on him. The stink of desperation is now wafting off both of them as they play out the stupidest silent game of tug of war with the shirt that is now stretched to its absolute limit.

One sharp rip and Steve feels himself tumble backwards,  his elbow glancing painfully off the side table and setting the crystal decanter to ringing as he lands on his ass with a heavy gasp. He sits there in shock rubbing absently at his funny bone while Tony looks down and starts to laugh, choking on it.

 

The countdown is almost up. Steve cannot wait another second longer,  he makes one more last ditch effort to find someplace, any place to hide from the formidable woman about to descend upon them. There is only one option open to him. The last of his dignity falls from his shoulders as he gets on his hands and knees and begins crawling. He rounds the couch and scurries behind it like the mouse he is and slumps in defeat. It’s a tiny space and he can only fit if he lies on his side.  He shoots a hand up over the back and whispers, “Pillow?”

 

Tony scoffs loudly, “Oh no, we are  _ all _ gonna be uncomfortable today, pal.”

 

Steve just sighs and lets his hand fall. This is all so ridiculous.

 

“I’m not proud of this Rogers,” comes through, muffled and heavy with recrimination.  _ That makes two of us,  _ he thinks as the final  click-clack is rounds the corner and he can only shrink further into himself and pray this is over quickly.

 

“Well, this is inspiring,” her voice whips out.

 

“Today is the day I  decided wearing pants is optional”, Tony replies  as if he’s not got a care in the world. 

 

“‘Tony.  What is going on.”

 

“Gonna have to be more specific, there, Potts.”

 

“One rule. We have one, rule.”

 

“Hey, Pep--I did, call,  I said, J, call my best girl,  she’ always picks up except- you know- when we are free-falling to our death and the world is  _ actually  _ ending, then it’s voicemail--”, 

 

There is nothing but the tapping of a foot and Pepper clears her throat as the scent of her perfume mixes with the heaviness in the room. Tony goes to speak again but she quickly interrupts him,

 

“They were taking you to Shield medical the last I heard from you. That was days ago.”

 

The sound of Tony leaning forward and refilling the tumbler is all the excuse he offers. 

 

“I can’t do this anymore Tony. I said the last time would _ be _ the last time.  You don’t leave me waiting, wondering if you are hurt, or, or bleeding out somewh---I, God, Tony I love you,  but don’t you see--” Pepper chokes off on a slight sob, and a hitch in her breathing.   
  


“I’ve wondered for a while now what your threshold is...”, Tony dully pushes out, already resigned.

 

“I made it very clear for a while.  And yet you give me nothing.”

 

Tony’s voice flares with emotion when he viciously asks, 

 

“Nothing? So this is nothing.”

 

“Y-you’re so reckless, Tony….oh but I forgot,  _ you _ are the only one who suffers, right? So what does it matter to the rest of us who give a damn about you…..let's not forget the classic excuse--’it’s never your fault, it all just happens to Anthony Stark’.” 

 

“Right, I forgot I asked to have my chest blown open and strapped to a battery.”

 

There is a pause full of a burning accusation, and Tony is stuttering to breathe evenly and Steve is afraid to even breathe wrong.

 

“Honestly, that’s not even the problem, Tony.  I can’t fix you. I’ve tried. But you shut me out, every time.”

 

Steve hears tears when Tony finally asks,

 

“So the fact that I love you…?” 

 

It hangs in the air  while the room waits in a hush.  Steve hears the next blow coming even though he can’t see it as she pulls the lynchpin.

 

“You aren’t going to come back one of these days.”

 

Silence falls, the kind after brutal truth is spoken, like a pall. 

 

Steve had said almost the same thing to Tony, standing in Shield.  Right before he tried to kiss Tony through a glass wall. He feels a bit of shame now at  his own anger and callous manipulation in that moment, even if it had felt goddamn amazing.

 

“You ever wonder what might happen if you stop trying _ not t _ o be him?” , Pepper finally says with a quiet kind of sadness, knowing invoking Howard means they are truly splintering.

 

“Because  dismantling a mass weapon of death industry is so last year.”

 

“For once, please no jokes-”

 

“You want it straight then, no chaser?  Okay darling, Howard was right. Everyone leaves in the end.”

 

“It isn’t really leaving if I was never there.”

 

“Seeing as  _ you _ have jilted  _ me _ , you don’t get to divvy out the platitudes.”

 

“Tony, Im telling you this because I want someday for you to be hap-”

 

“--don’t, don’t say it Pep. I passed that exit a while back….I’ll have your things sent along, or Jarvis will as I intend to be very very drunk as soon as you leave and  for a long while after.”

 

“Take care of yourself, Tony.”

 

The only answer is  the sound of her heels walking out of the room and Tony’s life.

 

Oh it’s so much worse than Steve ever guessed, to hear the pain and not do a damned thing about it. Steve doesn’t know what to say, other than exactly nothing.

 

After a minute he cautiously crawls from his hidey-hole, stands up and peers out over the couch. He sees Tony slumped in on himself, sniffling miserably,  a drink in hand. He doesn’t speak or move and Steve stands more fully upright, wondering if its possible to jump to the other side of the room, if it’s even worth a try, while he fingers the torn ends of the shirt like a worry stone.

 

“I can hear your inner monologue from here” a miserable Tony finally  huffs out.

 

“I, I’m sorry. If there were any other wa--”

 

“You certainly downplayed how awful that was going to be didn’t you, Steve? There is all this, this --,” he points to his chest and a horrible queasy look flashes across his features,

“-oh, it’s all just swirling in there, pathetic misery Steve make it stop, do something, god dammit, it’s like brain freeze or soul freeze, or something- too much, too much  input! How did you do this before? Two consciousness streams of data!?”

“Tony, it’ll pass just give it a minute, it’ll settle, I don’t know the scientific way to say it, but it’s like the timelines need to align.”

 

“It would be optimal if it wasn’t directly in my skull is all--it's like the universe is in--- agh!  I am a huge fan of never doing this again. No more of the greatest hits of my semi-charmed life. Steve, don’t just stand there uselessly! “

 

“Well last time I was in this predicament, I was in a fever. I haven’t a clue of where, or when...we are,-there...here, where does that leave us?”

 

“Well,  we know one thing, it leaves you in Pepper’s yoga pants.”

 

“Thank you for mentioning that again,  Tony”

 

“I mean, the towel was bad enough….” Tony’s voice is slurring a bit, and Steve realizes the Tony of this time had been well on his way into a drunken mess before he  got hijacked.

 

“Tony, how are you feeling?”

 

“Peachy. I’m in my own personal hell over here. This is officially the worst episode of Quantum Leap ever. Fuck off, Rogers.”

 

Steve watches Tony sink and curl into a ball. He is going to have to figure this out for the current and advisable future as Tony is now on the cusp of passing out.

 

“Steve, I  feel it, next to the arc,  I thought you fixed it but it, it hurts again. “

 

“Tony, what hurts?”

 

“Everything. We need t’ lab.”

 

Steve understands even if Tony is four sheets to the wind he is still a force to be reckoned with so takes the easiest path from point a to point b and grabs Tony up, fits him against his chest and strolls to the elevator, with an indignant, silk-clad, boozy-breathed Tony staring a hole into him. 

 

“Your eyelashes are ridiculous. “

 

“Nice of you to notice.”

 

Tony doesn’t speak and the elevator opens and Steve steps in and sets Tony against the wall,  he is leaning away from Steve, still drunk and miserable. The ride is silent.

 

He  slouch-walks his way out of the elevator to the coded door and in a series too fast to follow, keys them in.  Lights glow and his machines begin whirring their pleasure at seeing Tony. He ignores them and collapses onto a bench next to his smallest workbench, where his delicate work is done.

 

A greenish-colored drink is being shoved at Tony,  Steve cringes thinking he might actually take a sip, but Tony merely sets it behind him on a shelf containing various versions of the same, it looks like an experiment in mold growing. Steve gets to the point.

 

“What do you need? How can I help.”

 

“Well, I’d say I need a DeLorean but it’s you, so in layman's terms: I need to build something to create a _ stable _ temporal suspension and pinpoint to a time in relative space with absolutely no plan and it needs to be within .0002 accuracy.”

 

Steve  takes all of this in and then says,“Well, if anyone can build a time machine with some  _ style _ , it’s you.”

“Of all the times for movie night to pay off.”

 

“So we need to be creating your, what was it, Flux Capacitor?”

 

“Not quite--Steve, it would take me longer than I have to explain how wrong you are--- but if you’d like I can give you a brief addendum first--”

 

Steve pushes his index finger against Tony’s lips to get him to stop talking. Steve can tell  he is about to really get going and doesn’t think he will get through it without shoving Tony against a wall or something.

 

“Build it while you tell me how wrong I am.”

 

He turns Tony around by his shoulders and facing the bench and cocks his chin for Tony to continue. 

 

Tony stares up at him and laughs softly. 

 

“My Dad would never let me have a dog, you know-”

 

Steve  becomes immediately wary.

 

“---Pepper ‘s allergic, also her love of shoes predisposes her to not being enamored...why she stayed as long as she did is still up for debat--”

 

Steve interrupts him, “No, it’s not.”

 

Tony goes back to tinkering. Steve is grateful that nothing more is said. He turns and sets off to the corner of the room he knows is supposed to be a small kitchenette to find anything  to combat the many glasses Tony no doubt drowned himself in before. 

 

When he returns with the dubious but _ hot _ coffee and a few measly edible snacks Tony actually gives him a smile. He’s sure it’s mostly for the coffee but either way it’s surreal to see Tony smiling at him. 

 

At this point in time as far as Steve remembers, he and Tony did not talk, let alone smile at one another. Steve was still in hiding over almost getting Tony crushed under that building.  Soon the guilt will be eating him alive until he begins his apology attempts and now Steve knows  _ why _ Tony had been so unforgiving back then. Pepper. 

 

He cringes remembering how desperate he had been to make it up to Tony...or will be?--it's hard to keep track, he’s still not quite used to-what did Tony call it, two consciousness streams ?

 

Tony  shambles up to Steve as he sets down the tray, making grabby hands at the giant death star mug that Steve knows is Tony’s favorite.  It’s hard to be mad at Tony when he’s disheveled, adorably spiked hair, eyes lit up at the looming chance of caffeination. Tony moans with pleasure and Steve distracts himself from thinking too long on how it sounds very much like one he has heard before. 

 

“Rogers, I gotta say, this coffee ain’t half-bad. Maybe I’m starting to rub off on you.”

 

Steve looks askance at Tony, expecting some kind of double entendre sex stare  and waggling eyebrows only to find Tony gazing back with steady regard. Steve has that falling off a cliff feeling again looking into those chocolate eyes, and for a brief flicker of time it feels like this is an everyday kind of thing, sharing coffee in Tony’s workshop.

 

Steve thinks of other Steves in other worlds who start their morning with coffee and Tony Stark.  In a way, it very well might be an everyday occurrence. It burns a little.

 

They sit in a companionable silence until Tony starts getting that fizzy, excited look, and Steve knows that he is about to create something. He suddenly wishes he had his sketchpad.

 

Tony starts muttering to himself and then he has Jarvis pulling up schematics and Steve, the good soldier he is, tasks himself with getting rid of some of the more obvious trash and Dummy is  more than happy to offer help. Very clumsy help. He can hear Tony cursing in the corner. Steve doesn’t give much credence to Tony’s ramblings when he is in the midst of his work.

 

“I mean, how is this even fair...honey trappin’ sonofabitch....”

 

Instead he’s systematically divesting the shelves from their trash. Dummy grabs at the trash in his hand and keeps pulling pieces out, leaving others to flutter and fall upon the floor creating  a trail of debris. Steve shakes his head and bends every few feet to gather it back up. 

 

“Jumpin’ Jehosaphat…….fucking insanity….greatest generation is right...focus Stark, less depravity and more fixing the fucking problem, the problem, no, not fix, hone, hone it to a fixed point, yes, point...“

 

Steve isn’t really listening to Tony, he’s more like a background noise, his soft cadence, Steve even finds it calming, because it means Tony is thinking. It’s exactly what he needs Tony to do, get them home. 

 

Steve actually believes he can do it. He knows once Stark finally gets his head in the game,  he changes it. Steve just has to be ready to use the opportunity whenever it arises. It would just be nice to be able to do it in his own clothes. It will have to wait until Tony is further along, Steve can wait it out.

 

By the time Tony has moved from theoretical to actual engineering, Steve has mostly set the place to rights, with the exception of the “off limits” areas, which well, include almost every table level surface. Jarvis helpfully let Steve know when he was encroaching until Tony got bored and took over. Those are fifteen minutes he wishes he could get back.  Air Horns are now on Steve’s ‘do not like’ list.

 

There is nothing for him to do. He found a pencil earlier and he sees some scrap paper with little notes written on them that make no sense. His palms almost itch at the idea of sketching. It’s been too long since he let himself take the time to really enjoy the feeling. He sits down on a couch that is caddy cornered to Tony and puts the graphite to paper.

 

Five minutes later Dummy is bringing Steve more notes and scrap than he could ever use in one sitting but Steve doesn’t have the heart to stop accepting them, of all of Tony’s creations, Dummy is his favorite.

 

It feels like a sitting, no shields, no armor, no sarcasm, only the scratch of pencil strokes and Dummy rummaging in the background. Steve is on his fifth attempt to capture the sheer ridiculousness of Tony’s hair when the realization  he has been outright staring sinks in. It’s the same moment he happens to look straight into Tony’s overbright regard. 

 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

 

Steve fights the urge to laugh, it’s rather close to what Steve is doing, in his own way. But he instead says,  “Jarvis, you heard the man, take a picture.”

One indignant squawk later and a perfect image of Tony, wild-haired, bright-eyed,  slightly debauched, the red robe hanging off a shoulder, pops up in the space between them. 

 

Steve feels gut-punched, his breath nearly knocked out of him as he stares at the image now, while Tony begins drunkenly arguing with Jarvis. Steve tunes it out and grabs a new piece of scrap and sketches, letting the sure lines make a map. He is  discovering the coastline of Tony. He finds himself wanting to make his way inland to the far reaches, virgin land none have set foot before. All the clues are there, he knows. 

 

Pepper had cracked Tony open, he just hadn't realized it at the time. No one had. But here in this candid moment, there is the glint of something in the darkness and Steve is closer than ever before to catching a glimpse of it. So he sketches on, picking up paper as he goes, the eyebrows, the curve of the cheek, the pattern of stubble coming in, Steve spends a good ten minutes on the corner of his mouth. Time stretches and Steve is shocked to find the next time he comes up for air hours have passed.

 

Tony is bent over his station, muttering to himself, and soldering something impossibly small onto something else Steve cannot even see. What he can see is another tumbler sitting on the  edge precariously, half-empty. Damn it, Of course Tony has a stash. He doesn’t seem particularly drunk, more frustrated. Steve decides it is time for a break.

 

Even more importantly, it’s time to finally get himself into a sensible pair of pants.

But since Steve isn’t willing to be more than ten feet away from Tony, he’s had to wait. He looks around himself, and sees the pile of papers, all covered with lines and images. Steve gathers them together as best he can and lays them on a high shelf, out of reach of both Tony and Dummy. Steve  turns back and ponders the best way to approach Tony. 

 

Ten minutes, one fire extinguisher, and two lectures on sneaking up on people with fire-tools later and Steve’s finally standing in his old ‘new’ quarters. 

 

He finds them sparse, not much changed from how he keeps them in his time other than a few trinkets, sketch pads and some charcoals stuffed behind his only slightly larger collection of clothes than hang there now. There is something disheartening about that.

 

Steve sits upon the bed, eyes tracking aimlessly, then settle on the chest of drawers directly across from him. He is alone for the first time in hours, at least he imagines he is until a knock comes from the other side of the door. He is still on the ten foot’ leash’, as Tony calls it.

 

He raises his eyeline to his reflection in the mirror across from him. His eyes are bloodshot and the sparked-out, the itching under this Steve’s  skin speaks of sleepless nights, and endless days. He still remembers the weeks of nightmares about Bucky and Tony, ice and looming loss, a change, but not a welcome one. He pulls himself from those nightmares, that’s not why he’s here.

 

He stands,  stalks toward himself when abruptly the  _ full _ understanding of how he has been parading around becomes clear as a crystal vase. He might as well be naked as the day he was brought into this world!

 

A few of Tony’s more inventive mutterings from earlier echo back to him and Steve feels torn,  a low chuckle warring with the need to sink through the floor, there is no winning with that man. 

 

The more he thinks on it, though, Steve’s starting to feel a bit irked. Dummy had been more hindrance than help and Tony hadn’t been much better at keeping his bot in line.

Images of the last hour he spent cleaning the workshop, the flexing and reaching and all the ‘help’ Dummy had offered had him bending over, a _ lot _ ,…it clicks.  _ That sly dog.  _

 

Steve’s used to asking himself why all of his interactions with Tony have to end with him in a compromising situation, now  he wonders how many of them Tony is the sole architect of. More than Steve would like is the answer. 

 

His annoyance is now piqued, and yet even underneath that there is a thrill to think back and try and feel the remembered weight of Tony’s gaze. Tony’s complete attention has always been a love/hate dynamic for Steve. 

 

“Rogers, stop playing with yourself and get out here, you’re wasting daylight.”

And like the devil knows when he’s being discussed, there is Tony, reminding Steve the entire point of this excursion. 

 

“Keep your pants on, Tony, it hasn’t even been two minutes.”

 

“Hate to break it to you Steve, but my pants are already  _ off _ , so you take off  _ yours _ and we can get back to saving our asses, the world and all that good rah rah bullshit.”

 

“Did you just order me to take off my pants to save the world? Tony, the entire reason we are up here is so I can put ON my pants!”

 

Tony’s snickering spills under the door, and Steve wonders how it’s possible for Tony to still be drunk, he’s never seen the like of it. Dugan, maybe came close one night they all slept in a wine cellar in France, what ensued passed into legend, or so he was told by a few veterans they had paraded out when he first stepped into this century.

 

What people don’t know about that night is they got in some _ serious _ hot water with top brass.  Steve was able to avoid outright censure to his men by essentially calling in every favor he had and being a major suckup to the generals and anyone they pointed him at like a charm offensive. 

 

Honestly, the revolting amount of pandering he had to do was nothing when compared to the lightening of  heaviness that night in the cellar. Steve smiles and shakes off the memory of Dugan ‘yeehaw’ ing in a 2-star general’s stolen transport. For the first time, Steve isn’t bowled over by sadness at the memories of his men. 

 

The crisis he finds himself in might have something to do with that, though.

 

He wishes he could take a shower and clear his head and the grime of sweat and panic but the idea of being caught in another temporal shift mid-shower makes it much less appealing. 

 

He yanks the shirt off and finally, oh finally he pulls the gray knit pants from his legs like shedding a second skin. He throws them across the room as if venomous, and pulls on the underwear before jumping into his pants like they might disappear.

 

The relief is instant as he pulls his shirt over his head and  gets his arms in the sleeve holes. As the white cotton settles around his waist a sigh rises from his gut and bursts. He puts his shoes and socks on more leisurely now, breathing easier. 

 

Tony knocks again, whining increasing tenfold,

 

“Oh come on Rogers, keep up this pace and you’ll be a Hundred year old virgin.”

 

Tony drunkenly snorts at his own wit, which turns into a yelp when Steve pulls the door open and he flails and falls.  He had been leaning against the door.

 

Now Steve laughs from the bottom of his socked and shoe’d feet. It vibrates out of him scattering some of the tension. Tony’s still  face down and not moving, other than to moan,

 

“Why are virgins so damn touchy?”

 

Steve rolls his eyes still chuckling and Tony rolls onto his back, offering his hand up to Steve.

 

”Fine. At least help a guy up after you go ahead and let him _ fall _ .”

 

The laughter squelching  and dying horribly in his throat.  The dark mood is all but back, edging in, like clouds heavy with rain. Tony can’t know how much those particular words cut into Steve, his failures never far from his mind.

 

“Gonna leave me hangin’?”

 

_ Hangin’. Hanging...rails and snow, a scream hanging in the air...the cold of the wind on his face, wet, the burn of it.  _

 

Tony is calling him. It’s from far away. There hands are on his face, warm, and he blinks from white mountains to a furrowed brow and dark eyes. His face is still wet.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
